Amidst the Darkness
by Lady Galadriel
Summary: It started as a friendship and grew to much more as they fought together to save Ferelden. Each had to make sacrifices, but will Alistair ever realize just how much she gave up? Rated M for future content. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Yeah, so I jumped on the Dragon Age bandwagon. I couldn't help it; the Plot Bunny gnawed at my brain until I gave in._

_Disclaimer: You know the drill. Dragon Age characters, plot, blah blah blah, all belongs to Bioware. Except Gráinne (pronounced "grawn-ya," by the way). She's mine. Though we did manage to come to a custody agreement and Bioware can have her every other weekend._

_Hope you all enjoy!_

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_**Chapter One**_

_She sat on her bed, staring at the floor. His words kept repeating themselves, over and over in her mind. His eyes had been so distant, so bereft of the warmness she'd always seen in them. She'd always known it would come to this, though at the same time, she'd had hope. Hope that they would fight for one another._

_But when it came to it, there was no fight. Only acceptance._

_She'd only nodded her head and replied, "I understand…Your Highness."_

_A soft knock sounded at the door._

_She stood up wearily and went to open the door._

_Morrigan stood there, her expression unreadable._

"_I need to speak with you, my friend."_

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The day had been far too long, comparatively speaking. Connor, Arl Eamon's son, had been saved, and without having to sacrifice his mother for the ritual into the Fade. But the Arl still remained ill and unable to be revived by any source of magic. It seemed now that the only hope for his recovery relied upon finding the legendary Urn of Sacred Ashes, said to contain the ashes of Andraste.

Gráinne had agreed and insisted that they leave the Arl's estate at once, even though they'd only manage a few hours of travel before nightfall. Despite the heavy weariness the party could see in her face, Gráinne seemed unwilling to remain in Redcliffe any longer. Only Wynne gave some protest, asserting that Gráinne needed to rest after being in the Fade, but Gráinne refused.

Once night began to fall, they stopped to make camp close to the shore of Lake Calenhad. Gráinne declined any food and instead retreated to Morrigan's campfire. Alistair watched as the two women sat next to one another, speaking quietly. They almost could have been sisters, he noted, with the same raven-dark hair and the same feral spark in their eyes. But Morrigan's features bore the hardness of the Korcari Wilds, her yellow eyes sharp and harshly penetrating. Gráinne, on the other hand, had a softer face, with pale green eyes that were mysterious and captivating.

A man could become lost in those eyes.

Gráinne and Alistair had developed a close friendship over the weeks they had traveled, since Loghain betrayed King Cailan and the Grey Wardens. Alistair had never had a particularly high opinion of mages—no doubt from his Chantry training—but Gráinne was another story entirely. She was skilled and capable, and frankly had saved his ass more times than he could count. She was different than any other Circle mage he had known, in all the best ways.

After a while, Gráinne returned to the main group, looking more exhausted than ever.

"Gráinne," Wynne spoke up. "You should eat something, if only a little. It will help you regain your strength."

"I will shortly, Wynne," Gráinne replied. "I'm going for a brief walk first."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Alistair asked before he could stop himself. "I mean, it would be a shame if we missed out on a bit of action yet again. If I don't kill some darkspawn soon, I'm afraid my sword will rust and become completely useless."

"Then it will be much like your brain—a perfect match," Morrigan's acidic voice quipped from behind him. She turned to Gráinne. "Go, we will keep watch here."

With a nod, Gráinne turned and walked from the camp into the trees that bordered the shore of the lake.

"It is not wise for her to venture out on her own," Wynne said in a low voice. "Not after her journey into the Fade."

"Being alone is precisely what she needs right now," Morrigan replied, "not to be pestered by a bunch of fools who think she needs to be treated like some fragile thing that might break at the slightest touch."

* * *

Gráinne lightly picked her way through the trees and underbrush, her ears alert for any sounds of danger. It wasn't long before she reached the edge of the lake, its gentle waves lapping against the grassy shore. She sat down on the grass and pulled her knees close to her chest. The night was clear and quiet, and the stars shone brightly overhead. It was a soothing respite after the past few days.

The sight of Connor as an abomination had been more distressing to her than the others realized. She had been especially angry with Lady Isolde for treating her son's gift as if it was a poison, a curse to be ashamed of.

The worst part had been confronting the Desire Demon. It had seen her innermost desires and contorted them against her. Defeating the Demon had required all her strength and will.

And that was _after_ she'd already spent a prolonged time in the Fade just a day before in order to save the Circle of Magi.

_Those damn fools_, she inwardly cursed. She may have been trained at the Tower and successfully faced the Harrowing, but she had never considered herself one of them. She had never belonged among the Magi, but it was the only option she'd been given. So she'd tolerated their inane doctrines and the overbearing rule of the Templars, if only to someday gain enough strength and power to escape. Jowan at least had the right idea, though resorting to blood magic to do so was pure idiocy on his part. Her opinion of blood magic was about the only thing she agreed upon with the Circle.

Gráinne closed her eyes and tried to will away her anger, her exhaustion…to will away everything in the world.

The sounds of rustling leaves snapped her back to attention. She immediately rose to her feet and summoned a ball of crackling lightning in the palm of her hand, ready to strike.

A familiar form emerged from the line of trees.

"I know I may smell as bad as darkspawn, as Wynne likes to incessantly point out," Alistair said, "but I assure you I'm not. For one thing, I have better hair."

Gráinne released the magic in the spell and the lightning ball dissipated. She gave him a wry smile. "Oh, I don't know about that," she replied. "I found their accessories of human bones and blood rather charming. Perhaps you could try it. Who knows, you might start a trend."

"And mess this up?" he scoffed, gesturing to his blonde hair. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to make this look like I did nothing to it at all?"

Gráinne resumed her seat on the grass. "That explains why you're always the first one awake." She patted the ground next to her, inviting him to sit down. "By the Maker, you're nearly as vain as Morrigan."

Alistair sat down next to her with a groan. "Please don't compare me to her," he said. "If I ever become anything like her, just throw me to the darkspawn. End my misery."

Gráinne chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

They sat together in silence for the next few moments. She knew he'd come to check on her, to make sure she was all right. She didn't want such treatment from the others, for fear of seeming weak, but she didn't mind it from Alistair. They had become close enough friends where she felt comfortable with him.

"Really, though," Alistair said, his tone more serious, "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I know," Gráinne replied. "And I am, really. I just…needed some time to think."

"Alone?"

Gráinne couldn't help but smile. "It doesn't have to be."

Alistair returned the smile. "Good."

A few more moments of silence passed. Then she spoke, her voice hushed. "That could have been me."

Alistair knew well enough not to make any sort of glib remark. "What do you mean?" he simply asked.

"Connor. That could have been me, a long time ago." She stared at her hands, hands that could wield great power, for good or ill. Hands that, as of late, had brought the deaths of dozens, darkspawn and human, whether they deserved it or no. Was this the sort of power her parents had feared?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Alistair said. He could never, in a thousand lifetimes, picture her as an abomination.

Gráinne hesitated, unsure if she wanted to divulge any further. She kept most of her past private, even from Alistair and Morrigan, the closest friends she had, and for good reason. It was far from pretty and the only way she dealt with it was by burying it.

"My parents," she began slowly. "They tried to force me to hide my gift, just like the Arlessa with Connor. They despised mages and thought magic in itself was an abomination. I tried to contain it as well as I could, to please them, but soon my gift manifested beyond my control. I would have…dreams in the Fade, nightmares. Sometimes demons would come to me and taunt me, and I didn't know how to deal with them. When I finally told my parents I could no longer control it, they were disgraced and sent me to the Circle." She clenched her hands. "The last I knew, I was disowned. I've seen no one from my family in over ten years."

Alistair didn't know how to respond. He studied her face for any clue, but her expression was blank as she stared out over the water. He took one of her unclenched hands in his. "I'm sorry."

She involuntarily relaxed her hand and, almost of their own volition, her fingers entwined in his. "It makes no difference anymore," she said nonchalantly. "Whatever happened, it happened for a reason, and there's nothing I can change about it now."

Alistair took a chance to lighten her mood. "I knew it! You _can_ be optimistic."

Gráinne lightly pinched him on his arm. "I'm realistic."

"And here I was, thinking I'd rubbed off on you. I suppose I'll have to try harder."

It was then that they both noticed that each still held the other's hand. At the same time, they glanced at one another. The moment between them wasn't awkward, but Gráinne was unsure how to interpret it. Somehow, it felt sort of…_right_.

Finally, she gently took her hand away and stood up. "We should get back to camp, before they start to wonder what sort of trouble we've gotten into," she said, brushing the grass off the back of her tunic. "Either that, or Zevran will start some wicked rumor about us."

"Well, he has to get his amusement from somewhere," Alistair replied disdainfully as he followed her into the trees. "When he's not ogling and trying to bed you, he tortures you with embarrassing comments."

"What an offense that must be to your innocent Chantry ears," Gráinne teased.

"You know, back in the Chantry, we were expected to resort to self-flagellation as punishment for tolerating such profanity," he said. "But I suppose battling darkspawn day-in and day-out serves that purpose well enough."

"And then some, I should think."

Before they exited the trees back into the camp, Alistair reached out for Gráinne's arm and gently held her back. He saw her questioning expression from the light of the campfire.

"Before we go back to camp…" He held something out to her. "Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?"

Though the fire from the camp offered dim light, she could see it plainly: a deep-red rose, picked when it had just bloomed. She raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Is that a trick question?"

"Yes, absolutely," he said, trying to keep his expression serious. "I'm trying to trick you. Is it working?"

She couldn't help but laugh.

"Aw, I just about had you, didn't I?" He shook his head. "Damn, I fail again at my aspirations of becoming a con artist. I'll just have to work on my cunning, then."

"Yes, most definitely." She eyed the rose again, wondering where he was going with this. "You've been thumbing that rose for a while now," she pointed out.

Alistair looked back to the rose in his hand. "I picked it in Lothering," he told her, gazing at the rose thoughtfully. "I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?" He shrugged. "I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

Gráinne nodded knowingly. He was right, too. Not long after they'd arrived in Redcliffe, they heard the news that Lothering and much of the south had fallen to the Taint—yet another reminder of how short their lives had become. "That's a nice sentiment. I'm rather surprised it's lasted so long."

He looked up from the rose to catch her eye. "I thought that I might…give it to you, actually," he said quietly. She could hear the nervousness in his voice. "I'd been waiting for the right time, and after what's happened the past few days…I just wanted you to know that, in a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

Gráinne stared at him. "I…don't know what to say."

"I guess it's a bit silly, isn't it?" he continued sheepishly. "I just thought, here I am, doing all this complaining, and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experience of being a Grey Warden since your Joining. Not a word of thanks or congratulations. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy." He gently placed the rose in her hand. "And after what you told me tonight, I…I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness."

Gráinne lightly touched the rose's velvety petals. Through some miracle, through all the battles since it had been picked, it had maintained its beauty and its life. Alistair saw her as that rose.

She could feel his anxious eyes on her, waiting for her response. She looked up at him and smiled. "I feel the same way about you Alistair. And thank you for the rose."

He returned the smile, clearly relieved. "I'm glad you like it. Now, if we could move right on past this awkward and embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it. Might as well give Zevran a reason for his jokes."

Gráinne smirked and took advantage of the moment. She tugged at the strap of his breastplate. "Sounds good. Off with the armor then," she said, gazing at him expectantly.

Alistair's eyes widened slightly and he laughed nervously, a blush creeping from his ears to his cheeks. "Bluff called! Damn, she saw right through me."

She playfully brushed the rose against his nose. "You're so cute when you're bashful."

"Right, well…I'm glad you like it."

They walked back into the camp. Most of the others had already retired to their tents. Leliana remained awake for her watch, though she was busy cleaning up the dinner dishes. Deimos, Gráinne's Mabari hound, who was lying by the fire, perked his head up when he saw his mistress.

"The rest of us decided to let you have the night off for the watch," Alistair told her. "You need to sleep."

Gráinne opened her mouth in protest, but Alistair immediately pressed his hand to her mouth. "And not a word about it from you," he said sternly. "Losing a few hours of sleep is a small price to pay for not having to carry you because you fell unconscious." Satisfied that she wouldn't raise an argument, he took his hand away. "Besides, only Zevran would volunteer for that job, and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't appreciate being groped unawares."

Gráinne huffed, though she was enormously relieved at the prospect of being able to sleep the entire night. "Fine, I will agree to it, if it pleases you. But only for tonight," she warned. "There's no need for special treatment."

Alistair grinned. "Well, at least not when it comes to sleep. For other things, maybe."

Reminded of what he'd told her just moments before, she felt a hot blush spread across her cheeks. "I'm going to bed," she said quickly, "lest you keep me awake any longer with your chatter."

"It's what I do best."

"Good night, Alistair."

"Good night, fearless leader."

Gráinne walked to her tent and Alistair tried to keep his eyes from following her so conspicuously. His heart was pounding in his chest. By the Maker, she was a vixen.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Warning: lime ahead. My first time writing it, too, so if anyone has any suggestions, I welcome them. Originally I intended to hold off a bit before I added lime, buuttt...Plot Bunny wouldn't let me._

_Thanks for the reviews and favorites! I really appreciate it._

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_**Chapter Two**_

It had happened again.

By Andraste's flaming sword, would she ever be able to get a good night's sleep?

It had been nearly a week since they'd left Redcliffe, and every night it had been something: storms, uncomfortable camping ground, darkspawn, and now nightmares of the archdemon. Every time, as soon as she'd fallen asleep.

All Gráinne wanted was a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Was that so much to ask for?

She threw back her blanket and pulled on her leather boots. Her tent had become unbearably hot, and after that nightmare she needed to feel the cool night breeze on her face. She unfastened the ties to her tent flap and stepped out, immediately sighing in relief.

The campfire had died down a bit since she'd gone to her tent, but it still produced plenty of heat and light. Alistair sat in front of it, staring into the flames, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Gráinne couldn't help the warm, fluttery feeling that suddenly rose in her stomach. Ever since Alistair had given her the rose, she'd been thinking about him more and more. She wondered where this was leading to. They were already close friends, but was it becoming something more? She'd had her share of flirtations and dalliances with young men, but none of them had felt anything quite like this.

Alistair sensed movement and looked up towards Gráinne. His expression softened, but it was still serious and quite uncharacteristic. She went over and sat down next to him. He was dressed in a tunic and trousers, which meant that he'd recently been sleeping and probably had the same nightmare.

"Nightmares again?" he asked.

Gráinne nodded. "You as well?"

"Yes, earlier," he replied. "I told Wynne I would take over for the rest of her watch. Good thing, too. She was starting to doze off."

Yet another concern to add to their list. Wynne was still sprightly for her age, but she had her moments. The last thing they needed was a surprise attack because Wynne couldn't stay awake.

"At least Deimos stays alert for most of the night," Gráinne said. Right then, a loud snore erupted from the Mabari hound and his hind legs pawed in the air, as if running. Alistair looked at Gráinne, his eyebrow raised doubtfully.

She smacked her hand to her forehead. "Never mind, then."

After a moment, she asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I was just…thinking. A rarity, I know, but it's been known to happen occasionally."

"'Occasionally' being the operative word," Gráinne returned lightheartedly.

Finally, he smiled and gave her a playful nudge. "Cheeky."

She was glad to see he regained some of his good humor back. It was almost unsettling to see him so solemn. "What were you thinking about?"

Alistair shrugged. "Nothing in particular, just…everything, really. The Blight, Arl Eamon, the archdemon, Loghain. I just wonder if anything will ever be right again."

He echoed a voice in her mind that Gráinne had promptly been ignoring up until this point. As their leader, she couldn't afford to second-guess herself, not if anyone was going to get through this alive. Everyone relied on her to lead them, to battle the Blight and the archdemon and to save Ferelden.

But what if she couldn't? No one ever thought of that, let alone suggested it. Everyone assumed that she would make things better, that everyone would live happily ever after.

But that was not how the story ended, not for her. She didn't expect herself to survive, even if they did manage to defeat the Blight. And if she did survive, where would she go? She had no home to return to, not with her family or with the Circle. She had nothing.

Alistair noted the expression on Gráinne's face and inwardly kicked himself. "I'm sorry, I know it's not easy for you—"

"No, it's not," she snapped before she could stop herself. A dozen emotions began to well up inside her and it took all she could to keep them from exploding. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"I'm sorry, Alistair," she whispered.

"Don't be," he said quietly. "You know, I'm here for you, if you ever need to talk. I know I'm not the most useful person in our little party, but I can at least do that much."

She was really in no mood for any of his self-deprecation—especially when it was poorly hidden behind a kind offer.

"Well, if you insist on being useful," she began, her tone a little more biting that she intended, "I can always use you as bait for the archdemon. I hear they especially like Templars—something about that holier-than-thou center filling."

"Better than mages," he shot back. "That bitter taste would only give it an upset stomach."

Gráinne made no reply. The air between them had quickly soured and she hadn't meant for that to happen. She was too tired to have an argument with him, though ironically, being tired was precisely what had caused it in the first place. She pressed her palms against her eyes, gritting her teeth in frustration.

Quite unexpectedly, she felt his arms around her as he gently brought her closer to him. For a moment she froze, unsure of what she should do. When was the last time she'd been hugged? However, she began to relax when she realized how warm and comforting he was. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

Alistair couldn't help but smile, though he was wracked with nervousness. He'd never been so close to a woman, especially one he cared for so much. He desperately wished he'd quit saying such stupid things that only upset her.

"We can do this," he said, trying to be reassuring. "I mean, how bad could the archdemon really be? We deal with Morrigan on a daily basis."

Gráinne burst out laughing, then covered her mouth with hand to try and stifle it so she wouldn't wake the others. "Better be careful," she warned. "She might hear you and turn you into a toad."

"Or worse."

Gráinne pulled herself from the embrace but still remained close. Finally, she was beginning to relax. She drew her legs closer to her chest and once more she rested her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he tentatively put his arm around her, bringing her so that she leaned against him.

"I meant what I said, you know," Alistair remarked. "About being here if you need to talk, not about the bitter mage part."

She chuckled. "I know. Thank you."

"…This is the part where you say you didn't mean it about using me as bait for the archdemon."

"Oh, I don't know," she replied, looking up at him with an impish grin. "I think it might be worth a shot."

"You are a wicked, wicked woman, do you know that?"

"I do my best."

Several moments passed. "Seriously, though—"

"I'm not going to use you as bait for the archdemon," Gráinne said with an exasperated laugh. By the Maker, it was a tempting thought sometimes, though.

They sat together in comfortable silence for some time. It didn't take long for Gráinne to become drowsy; the heat from the fire soothed her weary body, while the feel of Alistair so close to her was incredibly reassuring. The feeling increased tenfold when he began to lightly brush his fingers through her long, dark hair.

"Gráinne?"

"Mmm?" she responded sleepily.

"Will you…miss it, when it's over?"

"Miss what?"

"The tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…I mean, for all that's happened, all this time we've spent together, we're _living_ an adventure, like in the ancient stories. Will you miss it?"

"Oh yes," she answered. "It makes me tear up just thinking about it."

"You too?" Alistair remarked. "Yes, I can see why. There'll be no more running for our lives. No more darkspawn. And thank the Maker, no more camping in the middle of nowhere."

Gráinne could sense him hesitate, which prompted her awake. She straightened up to look at him, immediately regretting losing the comfort of his body. "What is it?"

Alistair studied her face for a moment before he replied. The firelight brought a warm glow to her face, and the way her hair hung down her shoulder…was this how the Maker felt when he first saw Andraste?

Of course, he was quite certain the Maker hadn't made a fool of himself constantly in front of the woman he'd fallen in love with. Although that knowledge certainly would have given Alistair a boost of confidence.

Her eyes gazed into his curiously, waiting for him to speak. As much as he loved her gaze upon him, he wished she would look away because it only distracted him further. _Right, just out with it_.

"I know it…might sound strange," he began finally, "considering we haven't known each other for very long, but I've come to…care for you, a great deal." The last words came out rushed, as if he tried to say it all at once before he could stop himself.

Before she could say anything, he continued, breaking his gaze to stare at the fire instead: "I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, I don't know." He took a deep breath, his blood pounding in his ears. _By the Maker, I'm an idiot. Listen to this drivel_. "Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself."

He dared to look back at Gráinne. "Am I…fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…feel the same way about me?"

There it was, out in the open. So it _was_ leading to something more, just as she thought. The only problem was that she had no idea _what_ it was exactly. She knew he had absolutely no experience, and the only experiences she had had never been anything serious. And where would it lead, anyway? With the Blight and the darkspawn and the archdemon, who knew if there was even any chance that—

"You're not imagining it," she said quietly, completely ignoring her brain. "I think I already feel the same way about you."

Relief flooded Alistair's face. "I—well—good, that's good." She was looking at him again with those compelling, enchanting eyes. Suddenly, he lost all reservations, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers.

Gráinne was taken aback at his boldness but had no intention of pushing away. The kiss was light and innocent, his lips barely touching hers. She could sense his awkwardness, given his inexperience, and, closing her eyes, returned the kiss with gentle pressure. Her response seemed to give him more confidence and he pressed his lips more firmly against her, tenderly taking her face in his hands.

Her stomach fluttered incessantly at the touch of his warm hands, the feel of his lips, the closeness of his body. She took a bit more initiative and parted her mouth, gradually working from the lower lip to the top. She felt him give a slight gasp and a warning immediately lit up in her mind, telling her not to take it too fast. She started to back away, only to have him pull her into his arms, dipping her head back so that he covered her mouth completely.

A shock of delight shot up her spine and she gave way, allowing him the lead. He'd learned from her and parted his own lips, slowly devouring each of hers in turn. She sighed in pure pleasure and draped her arms around his shoulders, her hands grasping the back of his neck. He gently rubbed her back, sending sparks all throughout her body, warming her body at every touch. Eventually, his hands made their way to her hips and stayed there.

She lost all manner of thought, completely engulfed by wave after wave of bliss, all which left her wanting more.

At some point she'd managed to adjust herself so that she practically sat in his lap. Now, her head was angled above his, giving her control. She took advantage and slipped her tongue into his mouth. She smiled when she heard him groan and withdrew, then took his bottom lip between her teeth, delicately nipping the flesh. He reached one hand to the side of her face, entangling his fingers in her hair, and crushed his lips to hers, attacking her mouth with his tongue.

Andraste help her, she was going to catch on fire. If they didn't stop soon…

She allowed him another moment, then made one last swipe of her tongue in his mouth and slowly backed away, pressing a few soft kisses to his lips. Her body screamed at her in protest for breaking contact.

Finally, when her blood stopped pounding in her ears, Gráinne opened her eyes again. Alistair sat there, a dazed look on his face, his eyes glassy in the firelight. She brushed her fingers against his cheek and their eyes met.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he said, his voice husky. He took her hand and kissed her palm. "I'm a lucky man."

A warm blush spread across her cheeks.

He seemed to regain some of his senses and his brow furrowed. "That wasn't too soon, was it?" he asked.

Gráinne smiled and traced her finger along his jaw line. "No," she answered softly. "Surprising, yes, but not too soon."

His eyes glinted mischievously. "So you've been waiting for this, have you? Wanting me all along?"

She put her mouth to his ear and seductively whispered, "Only as long as you've wanted me." She then flicked her tongue ever-so-lightly against the skin of his neck, incredibly pleased by the strangled noise he made.

"You are pure evil," he told her, his voice oddly strained. "Pure evil. Who needs to worry about an archdemon when you're around?"

She carefully maneuvered herself from his lap back to the ground, her thigh accidentally brushing against him—and she realized why exactly his voice sounded so strained.

Her own body was equally hungry, hungry for that first experience. She'd been at that point a few times before, but had never actually given herself to anyone yet. She could never discern what stopped her, and now she knew. None of the others had been able to ignite such passion in her, not like this.

Alistair cleared his throat. "Where do we go from here?"

_Where indeed_, Gráinne mused. If she hadn't known better, the next place for them would be her tent.

"Wherever it leads," was all she could say.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Short chapter is short. Things should pick up a bit next chapter. Thanks for reading and remember, I welcome any and all reviews!_

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_**Chapter Three**_

The next day, as the party packed up the campsite, Gráinne waited for the teasing that was sure to ensue. However, not a word was spoken about it. Was it really possible that no one heard a thing last night?

Alistair, on the other hand, was noticeably quiet. Morrigan made a snarky comment about him brooding again, which he promptly ignored. The rest of the group must have assumed it to be true, because no more remarks were made on the subject.

Her lips still burned from their kiss and she wanted nothing more than to feel his mouth on hers again, to feel his hands travel her body. Several times that morning she noticed his eyes on her and each time her heart skipped a beat.

Finally, the camp was packed and they made their way to the road.

"The road to Denerim is a couple hours ahead," Leliana pointed out. "As long as we are not stopped, we should be able to make it to the city in a few days' time."

"Not to mention we'll be able to restock in South Reach," Wynne said. "I'm running low on poultice components."

"We're not going to South Reach," Gráinne informed them. She adjusted her pack on her shoulders. "We'll take the east road to Brecilian Forest so we may find the Dalish, then head to Denerim from there."

"I do not think that is a wise course of action, Gráinne," Leliana advised. "The Forest is dangerous and it will delay our arrival to Denerim."

"I agree," said Wynne. "We will not last long in the Forest with what little supplies we have."

"We can resupply when we find the Dalish," Gráinne countered. "They'll have more than enough components for healing poultices."

Wynne opened her mouth in protest. "I do not think—"

"That is apparent," Morrigan remarked, her voice scathing. "We are already traveling through the area, so it makes sense to contact the Dalish so that they will honor their treaty."

"Besides, we don't know where Arl Bryland's loyalties lie," Gráinne continued. "If he supports Loghain, we'll be talking straight into our enemy's hands."

"But what makes you think we'll be able to find the Dalish so easily?" Zevran asked. "They are not very welcoming to outsiders, so I hear."

"They always travel this way this time of year. We're bound to run into one of the clans."

The party had stopped in the middle of the road as they carried on their discussion. Wynne and Leliana were still opposed to the plan, unconvinced by Gráinne's reasoning. Morrigan and Zevran made no objections, while Sten and Alistair merely remained silent.

"I am going to Brecilian Forest," Gráinne declared, her tone resonating with finality. She could feel the heat of the angry flush in her cheeks. "I have a duty to fulfill these treaties and I will follow the best course of action that I see fit. If you don't like it, then you don't have to follow." No one replied, but she could see the opposition still smoldering.

"Fine, we will split up," she conceded. "Morrigan and Zevran will follow me to Brecilian. Sten, you and Alistair will go with Wynne and Leliana to South Reach."

Sten gave an obedient nod. Alistair, however, finally broke from his stupor. He strode over to Gráinne and pulled her aside. "Why are you sending me to South Reach?"

"Because I need you to look out for the others," she replied evenly. "Sten is a skillful warrior, but he is not a Grey Warden."

His eyes had darkened and he stared at Gráinne in bewilderment. She kept her expression as unreadable as possible. He studied her for a moment but realized that he could say nothing to persuade her otherwise.

"All right, I'll go."

* * *

The sun had begun its descent in the sky as Gráinne, Morrigan, Zevran, and Deimos managed their way through the wild underbrush of Brecilian Forest. Zevran ventured ahead, using his keen senses to scout for danger. Gráinne and Morrigan walked side-by-side, with Deimos trailing behind.

"You seemed quite keen to avoid South Reach," Morrigan quietly observed. "Might I ask why? And do not tell me 'twas only for the treaties; I am not fooled."

Of course she would not be. "I simply do not wish to risk that South Reach is allied against us," Gráinne answered. "It is too populated for us to travel through unnoticed."

"Ah yes, and how convenient that you should know the Dalish would be traveling through here this time of year," Morrigan commented slyly. "You speak as though you know South Reach quite well, in the same way that I know the Wilds."

Maker's balls, Morrigan knew how to get to a person. Gráinne appreciated that she had gained Morrigan as a close friend, but sometimes the witch could be intolerable.

Thankfully, Zevran returned to them before Gráinne could be expected to reply.

"There is a stream not far ahead," he told them. "I believe it would make a suitable place for camp, no?"

"You'll not be camping in these woods, outsiders," a clear voice spoke from the trees. The group turned to see three elven archers, camouflaged in the trees, their bows cocked and aimed directly at them.

* * *

Why would Gráinne send him away to South Reach? Was it really because she was concerned for Wynne and Leliana, or was it for some other reason?

Last night had seemed like a dream. When he'd woken up this morning, he wasn't entirely sure that it had been real. He'd actually lied in his bedroll for several minutes, remembering the soft feel of her lips, her body pressed against him—and how aroused he'd been as a result. He had to quickly force those thoughts from his mind, lest he become required to resort to…drastic measures.

Then he'd begun to wonder how she truly felt about him. She admitted to caring for him a great deal, just as he cared for her, but did that necessarily mean the same thing? He'd heard about all different sorts of love, including how it was possible to love someone enough to be with them physically, but not any deeper than that. She'd also told him about "licking a lamp post or two"—though what that specifically entailed, he didn't know—so was it possible that she only cared for him up to that point? Was it possible that he'd fallen so deeply in love with a woman who did not feel quite the same as he did?

It gave him a headache just thinking about it. Why did this have to be so complicated?

And why had she been so resolute not to go to South Reach? Their fearless leader was stubborn, true, but normally she was more willing to listen to contrary opinions.

Alistair remained quiet throughout the day as they journeyed to South Reach, lost in thought.

They arrived in South Reach by nightfall and located the town's tavern, The Sleeping Dragon. It was fairly busy in the tavern, allowing them to enter without too much notice. Alistair, Leliana, and Sten were able to find an empty table to sit at while Wynne went to find the barkeep for information on a potion supplier. A rather voluptuous wench served them each a mug of ale. They drank silently and listened to the gossip being passed along.

"I don't believe that the Grey Wardens would betray the king," a farmer spoke to another. "Just doesn't seem right."

"You calling Teyrn Loghain a liar?" the other challenged. "He's the greatest hero Ferelden has seen in centuries. Besides, the Arl supports him and he's no fool."

"The Arl only supports Loghain because he hates the Grey Wardens. Thinks they deal in some kind of magic or some such. Remember, he disowned his own daughter because she turned out to be a mage."

"That's only a wild rumor—"

"No, 'tis true. Disowned her completely, denied her any claim to her nobility. It's in the Chantry records."

"Still doesn't mean the Arl isn't wrong to support Loghain…"

"The market opens first thing in the morning," Wynne told them as she took her seat at the table. "We should be able to get plenty to last us and still make it out of South Reach before the day is over."

"All the better," Alistair said in a low voice. "Gráinne was right; we're not entirely welcome here."

"Then we'll just keep our heads down and out of trouble in the meantime."

* * *

The Dalish were aloof and not particularly fond of their visitors' presence in the camp. However, once Gráinne agreed to help their plight, Zathrian, the clan's keeper, was at least kind enough to provide them food and shelter for the night.

Most of the elves retired to their tents or to help with the sick, leaving Gráinne the only one remaining at the campfire. A heavy silence hovered over the clan, making it difficult to sleep.

"You are troubled, my dear Warden," a silky voice murmured into her ear.

Gráinne clenched her teeth. She hated that Zevran could sneak up on her so easily.

"And what concern is that of yours?" she returned coolly.

Zevran seated himself uncomfortably close next to her. "I am merely here to offer my assistance," he said, "in any way that you may need."

"That will not be necessary, thank you."

"Are you certain? I assure you, I am quite adept in all matters of comfort, especially for a beautiful woman."

"No, Zevran."

"Well, should you ever change your mind—and should a certain other Grey Warden become…unfulfilling to your needs, know that I am here to bend to your every whim." He stood and withdrew to his tent, leaving Gráinne speechless and incredibly annoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Wow, I'm excited by the responses to this! Thanks again for reading and I hope this chapter is just as enjoyable. I thought to keep going, but I decided against it. Didn't want to overdo it._

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_**Chapter Four**_

Gráinne picked her way through the piles of stone and grime, brushing away the thick cobwebs that clung to her arms. The ruins stank of decay and wet dog.

"Well, this was certainly a _lovely_ idea," Morrigan's spoke from behind her, echoing in the stone chamber. "As if we don't already get our full share of mongrels on a daily basis. Tell me, why is it that whenever we remind someone of their _sworn duty_ to help us, suddenly they have some dire need that we have to bend over backwards to assist with?"

"Ah, my dear, you torture me with such images of you bending over," Zevran replied.

"Might I remind you, elf, that you are the one member of our party most likely to be targeted by the werewolves? I'm sure they would not object to such a tasty morsel as a peace offering."

"So you admit that I am a tasty morsel? At last, progress!"

Gráinne turned back to them. "Silence, both of you." Amid their banter she'd been trying to listen for any further signs of attack. They'd already come across plenty of skeletons, which were easy enough to kill, but the major problem had been the spiders. Maker save her, she _hated_ spiders—and these were nearly twice the size of her Mabari.

She glanced around the corner and down another set of stairs, spotting several skeletons. They fell easily to her well-aimed fire spell. She quickly descended the stairs to see if the path continued, but it was only a small empty chamber. As she turned to leave, however, something tugged at her. It was magic, old and powerful, and it reached out to her in desperation. Warily, she scanned the chamber and her eyes rested on a phylactery covered in dust.

Oh, but her curiosity piqued. Like wanting to poke a sleeping dragon with a stick, just to see what it would do.

She knelt down before the phylactery but didn't touch. It had a gem-like structure and the blood within still appeared fresh. Using her magical senses, she examined it further, gently probing at the magic the phylactery emitted. Definitely old, but nothing that immediately seemed sinister. Of course, that didn't mean it wasn't.

_Leave it alone_, an inner voice warned. _You don't know what could be within that vial. Remember the others? You almost died at the hands of those Revenants._

_But this is different_, she argued. _This doesn't feel like the others._

_Maybe that's what it wants you to think_.

She defiantly touched the vial.

It began to hum. It was warm to the touch, and at once Gráinne's mind filled with strange images and memories from a hundred lifetimes ago.

There was a Presence within the gem. It recoiled in fear when it sensed her. Images of imprisonment and loneliness rushed through her mind.

_It's all right_, she told the presence. _I'm here to help. Who are you_?

The Presence did not respond in words, but Gráinne could still understand. It had been trapped so long that it didn't believe she was real.

_I _am_ real_, she reassured.

It pondered this for a moment, cautiously exploring Gráinne's mind. She allowed it, but only to the point of letting the Presence determine that she was not a figment of its imagination.

When it decided, it showed her more images, this time of its existence within the Life Gem: of sleeping, going mad, then sleeping again, longing for release from the prison. Long ago, it was an elf, a mage in glittering silver armor. An elf who was mage and warrior both.

_Arcane Warrior_.

* * *

"Next time we decide to run to the rescue," Morrigan began as they exited the ruins, "perhaps we should gather all the facts of the situation before we take initiative against the innocent party, just because one happens to be prettier than the other."

"At least we managed a compromise," Gráinne pointed out. She really didn't feel like arguing with Morrigan. She was exhausted from the battling and quite tired of putting up with everyone's nonsense. Why did everyone insist on hiding the truth from her? Zathrian had lied about the werewolves, and while she had sympathized, she wasn't overly remorseful about his end.

On top of that, her left leg had gradually been growing numb for the past several hours. She wasn't quite sure what it was, since she hadn't been able to remove her leg guards to take a proper look at it. Had she taken a blow from something and not noticed? It didn't hurt, nor did she feel any blood loss. Perhaps it was a damaged nerve.

Until she took another step and passed out.

* * *

Alistair anxiously paced back and forth, his boots thumping rhythmically on the hardwood floors of The Gnawed Noble.

"Will you please sit down, Alistair?" Wynne asked exasperatedly. "The others will be here soon enough."

"We've already been in Denerim for three days," he retorted. "They should have been here by now."

"The Road through Brecilian was a great deal more difficult than ours," Leliana said. "It is no surprise that they have been delayed."

"And that's supposed to be reassuring? For all we know, they could be dead and we would have no way of finding out."

Wynne and Leliana looked at each other helplessly.

"That is why women should not lead," Sten remarked, his face as impassive as always. "If she had not been the one in charge, we would not have been separated in the first place."

"Shut it, Sten," Alistair snapped. Gráinne was strong, he kept telling himself. Leliana was probably right; the others were just delayed—

The tavern door opened and a young boy rushed in. When he spotted Alistair, he immediately ran to the table.

"Sir," he addressed breathlessly. "I think they're here—the ones you were looking for. Two mages, an elf, and a Mabari hound?"

Alistair's heart leapt into his throat. "Are you sure?"

The boy nodded. "Pretty sure. I saw the elf and the Mabari, so I guess the other two were mages. One of them looked pretty sick—the elf was practically carrying her."

His heart pounded. "Where were they headed?"

"The Chantry, I think—the woman wasn't able to walk far and they said something about healing—"

Ignoring Wynne's call, Alistair ran out of the tavern to the Chantry. He pushed past people in the market, not even bothering to yell out an apology. All he could think of was Gráinne, that she'd been hurt—

—and he promptly collided into Morrigan, knocking her to the ground.

"You bumbling oaf!" she angrily shouted. She nimbly got back to her feet and brushed the dust from her robes. "How do you even manage to walk about and _not_ kill the rest of us in the process?"

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes, I'm quite fine, thank you, after you nearly bludgeoned me unconscious. No bruises here."

Before he could respond, Wynne and Leliana came running from behind him.

"Good, my errand has now become a great deal shorter," Morrigan said. "I was just coming to fetch you, Wynne. We're in need of a competent Healer."

"What happened?" Wynne and Alistair asked simultaneously.

Morrigan paid no attention to Alistair and answered Wynne: "Our fearless leader suffered a spider bite in the Forest ruins. Unfortunately, it was not attended to until after the poison had traveled into her system. I managed to rid her body of most of the poison, but the wound still festers."

"Then let us get to the Chantry quickly," Wynne said.

Alistair went to follow but was immediately stopped by Morrigan. "You will remain here," she commanded. "The last thing Gráinne needs is you fawning over her like an overzealous idiot."

He opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the backward pull of his breastplate. "Come on, Alistair," Leliana beckoned.

* * *

She'd been wounded before, and pretty badly too, but this was agony.

Gráinne had spent the entire trek to Denerim gritting her teeth against the white-hot stabbing sensations that traveled up and down her leg. She'd managed to use her staff for support, but often she had to lean on either Zevran or Morrigan. Usually Zevran.

"My dear Warden," he had purred in her ear, "if you wanted to get so close, you didn't have to subject yourself to a poisonous spider bite as an excuse."

In spite of the pain, she couldn't help but laugh.

Over the past day, Gráinne had developed a high fever, causing her to blackout and lose all sense of what was going on. They'd arrived in Denerim, she knew that much, but she had no idea where she was now. She was vaguely aware of lying down on a soft surface and of a cool, wet cloth being applied to her forehead. Her vision was blurred and she tried to raise her hand to rub at her eyes.

"Hush, my dear," a voice told her soothingly. "You should try not to move."

She heard footsteps and saw two figures enter the room. One let out a low gasp.

"By the Maker," a familiar voice whispered. "And you made it all the way here?"

"Barely."

"Oh that's comforting," Gráinne muttered. "I am still conscious, you know."

"Not for long."

Gráinne heard the gentle words of a sleeping spell and succumbed to blackness once more.

* * *

When Gráinne woke again, the room was dark except for a few candles. Although she was still groggy, by the grace of Andraste, the pain had stopped.

Hushed voices spoke nearby.

"I don't care what the Revered Mother said. She is too weak to be moved yet."

"I'm afraid that's not an option. There is simply no room to spare in the Chantry, and what little space we have left is needed for the soldiers."

"Please, at least give us until morning. She'll have regained some strength and then we'll leave."

"Fine. I will inform the Revered Mother."

A heavy scuffle of boots passed down the corridor.

"So much for the Chantry's good will and hospitality to those in need."

"Don't start, Morrigan. They are under a great deal of stress from the battles in the south."

"Oh yes, 'tis much more important to make room for dead bodies than for those who are actually still living. I'm afraid the brilliance of that logic is lost on me."

Gráinne struggled to sit up. The movement caught the attention of those nearby. In the candlelight, she saw Wynne approach the bed and sit beside it.

"Easy, Warden," Wynne said, taking hold of Gráinne's arm to support her. She held out a mug. "Drink."

Gráinne obediently swallowed the liquid held to her lips, grateful that it was cool water and not a foul health potion.

Wynne held her wrist to Gráinne's forehead. "The fever is breaking," she affirmed. "Maker willing, you'll be well enough to move in the morning without further injury."

Gradually, Gráinne's head began to clear and she took better note of her surroundings. She was in a single room, lying in a small bed, dressed only in a white nightgown. Her leg was still slightly numb, but in a warm, pleasant way, not deathly cold as it had been before. She pushed back the covers and reached down to feel the top of her knee, where she'd been bitten, but it was securely bandaged. However, despite the bandage and the dim light, neither did anything to conceal the ugly purple streaks that ran the length of her leg.

"You're quite lucky to be alive," Wynne told her grimly. "If you hadn't arrived in Denerim when you did…"

She didn't need to finish for Gráinne to know the answer.

"Where is everyone else?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Staying at The Gnawed Noble," Wynne said. "We earned a bit of extra coin in South Reach, so we can afford the indulgence for a few days. We'll have to move you there in the morning, as long as you are well enough for it."

"So I heard. I'll be well enough."

"No offense, Warden, but I will be the judge of that," Wynne sternly responded. She stood up. "In the meantime, you should rest. I've managed a place to stay in the Chantry and you will have a friend to stay with you the night."

Gráinne looked at the older mage questioningly. Her answer was the shape of a large Mabari in the doorway who, upon seeing his mistress was awake, bounded in and enthusiastically slobbered her hand.

"Good to see you too, Deimos," she greeted him with a smile.

"It was either him or Alistair," Morrigan said, "but Alistair lost the coin toss. Besides, your dog, stench-ridden though he may be, is the quieter choice. "

Deimos gave a happy bark of agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Good morning, everyone (for 'tis morning here, and I really should be studying for the final I have in less than two hours)! I appreciate everyone's responses and I'm glad you seem to be enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Lime ahead, just to warn you, since I thought it was about time for it. I appreciate any feedback, since I'm pretty inexperienced with writing lime/lemon (oh, that should be fun...)._

_Enjoy everyone!_

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_**Chapter Five**_

"I can't believe I lost a coin toss—_to a dog_." Alistair glared into his nearly-empty mug of ale.

"Oh, will you stop your incessant whining," Morrigan snapped. "Be grateful she is even alive."

"There are worse things in life, my dear Alistair," Zevran told him. "Though, admittedly, losing to a dog is fairly low on the list…"

Alistair ignored them both. He'd been drinking ever since Morrigan had returned, telling them Gráinne had been wounded. He hadn't been allowed to see her, even after Wynne had successfully healed her. Now he was supposed to wait until morning, when he should be there _now_.

And the thought that Zevran had touched her so closely—that he had been there to care for her when she needed—did nothing to improve his mood. He should have been the one to go with her to Brecilian Forest. If he had, perhaps he would be the one lying in the Chantry with a spider wound; he would be the one suffering, not her. But she had been so _stubborn_. Or maybe he hadn't been stubborn enough.

He let out a groan, holding his head in his hands. Leliana gingerly took his mug away. "I think someone has had quite enough ale for the evening."

"Agreed." Morrigan wrinkled her nose in disgust. "If he becomes ill in the middle of the night, I relinquish all responsibility of caring for him."

"You're not the one sharing a room with him," Zevran said, swallowing the rest of his ale. "On the other hand, his condition presents the perfect opportunity to finally have my way with him."

"Now I really do think I'm going to be sick," Alistair moaned.

* * *

The light was far too bright and the noises from the tavern below far too loud. Alistair was hungover and he didn't care too much for the feeling.

But someone was in his room.

He cracked an eye open to find Gráinne perched next to him on the bed. When she saw that he was beginning to wake up, she smiled.

"Good morning, sunshine—though good afternoon is more appropriate."

Alistair sat up with every intention of responding until he was hit with a wave of nausea and fell back against the pillow with a groan. "I don't think there's anything 'good' about it right now."

She giggled. "Here, I've brought you something to help."

He sat up again, cautiously this time, and took the mug she held. He glanced at the murky contents. "Do I even want to know what this is?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Let's just say it's my special remedy for hangovers," Gráinne replied. "Drink it as quickly as you can."

He sighed and did as he was told, nearly gagging the concoction up in the process. He finished it quickly, fighting against another wave of nausea, and gratefully took the glass of water she also had.

"Give it a moment and you'll feel much better."

After a few agonizing seconds passed, he did in fact feel better. His head cleared, the nausea passed, and he was finally able to open his eyes all the way without grimacing. It was then his brain fully comprehended that Gráinne sat there, alive and well, though it was clear she still needed more time to recover. Her face was deathly pale and she had dark circles under her eyes. But the smile on her face was as bright and lovely as ever.

"You know, I don't think I've ever known anyone to drink themselves into a stupor over me," she commented. "I actually feel rather flattered."

"What can I say? I live to please. Though I hope you won't be too offended if I never, ever, do that again."

"I certainly hope not. These potions aren't exactly cheap to make."

Alistair raised a hand to brush back a loose strand of hair from her face, letting it linger against her cheek. "I was afraid I'd lost you."

"I know," Gráinne said quietly. "But I'm still here."

"It should have been me—"

She shook her head. "No. You've taken your share of wounds and it was my choice to go to Brecilian. There's a price for everything and this was mine to pay." She reached into the pocket of her trousers and pulled something out. Her eyes were strangely alight. "I have something for you."

"Another special remedy?" Alistair joked.

She dropped the item into his hand. It was metal and cool, and when he looked at it, his jaw dropped.

"This…this is my mother's amulet." He stared at it, hardly able to believe he held it in his hand. "It has to be. But why isn't it broken? Where did you find it?"

"I found it in Redcliffe castle, in the study," Gráinne replied.

"The Arl's study?" He lightly ran his thumb over the amulet of Andraste's Flame. It was riddled with tiny cracks, a harsh reminder of his foolishness. "Then he must have found the amulet after I threw it at the wall, and he repaired it and kept it." He looked up at Gráinne. "I don't understand. Why would he do that?"

She gave him a smile. "Perhaps you mean more to him than you think," she answered gently.

"I…guess you could be right. We never really talked that much, and then the way I left…" He then realized something. "But if you've had it since Redcliffe, why did you wait so long to give it to me?"

"The chain was worn and rusted when I found it," she explained. "I wanted to replace it before I gave it to you, so I asked a craftsman at the Dalish camp to make one."

Alistair felt a lump form in his throat. "Thank you," he whispered, clenching her hand. "I mean it, I…thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "I'll need to talk to him about this, if he recovers—_when_ he recovers, that is."

"That'll be sooner than you think," Gráinne said as she slid from the bed and cautiously straightened up. Her leg was still quite tender, so most of her weight had to be placed on her right leg. "Zevran and Leliana located Brother Genitivi's house. I'm assuming you'll want to come, so you should get dressed. We'll be heading over there shortly." She walked to the door, her pace slower than normal but with only a slight limp.

"I can't believe you remembered me mentioning it," Alistair remarked with a laugh. "I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

Gráinne turned from the doorway to look back at him. Her expression was unreadable.

"Of course I remembered, Alistair," she responded softly. "You're special to me." She closed the door, allowing him privacy to wash and dress.

He smiled, holding the amulet for another moment before putting it around his neck. The chain was light and strong, definitely of elven make, and probably had cost a decent bit of coin, especially if she had it specifically made…

Then it dawned upon him how, yet again, he'd been an absolute idiot. This entire time he'd doubted her feelings for him, questioning whether she felt the same as he did for her, and here was his answer, right in front of him. And what had he done? Blabbered about the Arl, oblivious to what it really meant for her to give him the amulet.

He hopped out of bed, quickly washed and changed into a fresh tunic, then went to find Gráinne's room.

* * *

Up until that point, Gráinne had been uncertain about her feelings for Alistair. She knew she cared for him deeply, much more than as just a friend. But it wasn't until that moment, when she saw his face as he held his mother's amulet, that she realized she was in love with him.

Which made things a hundred times more complicated.

It wasn't just because they were both Grey Wardens in the middle of a Blight, the very survival of Ferelden hanging in the balance. It wasn't that one of them—or both—might die at any moment. In Gráinne's mind, it was possible that things could work out. It was entirely possible that they could defeat the archdemon and end the Blight. It was entirely possible that both of them would survive.

What troubled Gráinne had, so far, remained unmentioned. She suspected, however, that once Arl Eamon was healed and they could discuss further action against Loghain, it would be brought up. Alistair may be the bastard son of King Maric, but a son by blood and heir to the throne nonetheless. She knew politics well enough to expect that the Arl would push Alistair to assume the throne against Loghain. That put her very much out of the picture. Alistair would have to marry a noblewoman and produce a legitimate heir—something that she could not do.

Should she end it now, before things progressed beyond her control? It would hurt to do so, especially since her feelings had already developed so far, but the hurt would end eventually. Would it be better to spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been, or spend it yearning for what was lost?

She rubbed her temples, trying to relieve the headache that had quickly flared. She chased the thoughts from her mind, resolving to deal with them later, and continued packing up her things for camp that night. She wasn't looking forward to being on the road again, but they'd lost enough time already from her injury.

As she stuffed her belongings into her pack, her fingers brushed against cool metal. She clutched the item and pulled it out, revealing a gold necklace with a small charm. The only thing that remained of her past life. She'd denied everything else to avoid the pain of that loss, but this was one thing she didn't have the heart to destroy.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. She quickly threw the necklace back into her bag. "Come in."

To her surprise, Alistair entered the room, closing the door behind him. "I wanted to talk to you," he told her purposefully.

"What about?" she asked. _You should talk to him too, _that voice in the back of her mind nagged. _It's only fair. You risk hurting him, too._

He strode over to where she stood by the bed. "That night in camp," he began, his eyes dark and warm, "you told me that you cared for me a great deal, just as I care about you. I'll admit, I didn't know what that meant because you've had other experiences and I was confused." His hands were gesturing wildly. "I was confused and worried that you might care for me differently than what I feel for you and I didn't know how to talk to you about it, and then we were separated and you were injured and everything got in the way again. But the way you looked at me when you gave me the amulet…" He moved toward her, dangerously close, and laid his hand on her cheek.

Her throat had stopped working completely. If there was any time to end things, it would be now. She could tell him that she only cared for him as a friend. She could tell him that night in camp had been a mistake. She could tell him any number of things that would be anything but the truth, if only to spare them both.

When did his lips get so close?

"Yes," she murmured, answering his unasked question.

He leaned in closer.

_Nonononononono_—

His lips met hers, firm and warm and completely intoxicating.

_Forget it_, she told that nagging voice. The Maker himself couldn't take this moment away from her.

Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist, taking great care to avoid her injured leg. Gráinne held his face in her hands as their mouths collided again and again, unable to be satiated. For their first kiss, she had guided him, easing him of his uncertainty. Now there was no hesitation; his teeth grazed her lips with just the right amount of pressure and his tongue teasingly slipped in and out of her mouth.

Her jaw relaxed and she allowed herself to be consumed. His mouth traveled along the nape of her neck, gently sucking and biting the skin. She bit her lip against the moan that threatened to escape her throat and pulled his lips back to hers, pressing herself to him, the need in her body growing stronger. Everything had disappeared and she was utterly lost in the moment.

His hands began to wander along her body, passing over her hips and abdomen until, tentatively, he brushed his fingers against her breast.

Unable to contain it, she released a low whimper. He stroked the tip with his thumb, the rest of his hand conforming to the curve of her breast. Just as she began to slide one of her own hands up his tunic, delighting in the feel of his well-developed chest—

Someone knocked on the door. Immediately they broke apart from one another.

"Gráinne?" Wynne's muffled voice called through the door.

"I'll be out in a moment," she replied, gasping slightly. As soon as Wynne's footsteps were out of earshot, Alistair drew Gráinne to him for another kiss, though calmer this time. His mouth lingered for a moment, then reluctantly pulled away. They stood for a moment to catch their breath, their foreheads lightly touching.

"You know," Alistair began quietly, "I think, after all this time, I finally understand why the young men at the Chantry would sometimes run off for a cold shower."

Gráinne let out a breathless giggle. "What could possibly be so excitable in a Chantry?"

"You'd be quite surprised. Think about it: a bunch of adolescent men, forced to eat, sleep, and live together, cut off from the outside world and denied any and all earthly pleasures? The imagination runs wild." He touched her chin, noting how it was rubbed raw from his stubble.

"May I ask you something?"

"I believe you already have, but I'll permit you to ask another question."

He brushed her hair from her face. "You never…_elaborated_, but have you ever…" His voice trailed off. "You know…"

Gráinne smiled knowingly. "Have I ever licked a lamp post in winter?"

Alistair's eyes, however, were serious.

She cleared her throat. "If you're asking if I've ever had sex with anyone," she said bluntly, "the answer is no. I've done…other things with men before, but never as far as that."

His expression softened with visible relief. "That's good to know—I mean, not that I would have minded if you had before, I had just hoped…well…" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I should just stop talking now, shouldn't I?"

"Probably."

They stood there for another several moments before Gráinne spoke. "We should go. They're waiting."

Alistair chuckled. "Yes, duty calls. Blight, archdemon, and all that."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Finally, Chapter Six! This chapter was a bit of a pain to get started, but luckily things flowed pretty smoothly after a bit. Could have been finals...my brain just stopped working after that and went, "Kthxbai." Now I just have to figure out where the next chapter is going..._

_And of course, thanks to everyone for all the reads, reviews, and favorites! You guys are awesome._

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_**Chapter Six**_

"_I know you still love him, Gráinne," Morrigan said, "though I can hardly imagine why, after he has shown what a fool he truly is. This is the only way to save the both of you."_

_Gráinne stared into the fire, unwilling to believe what she was hearing. She trusted Morrigan with her life, but this was too much to bear._

"_If you wish to save him, you will convince him to do this."_

"_Was this your plan all along, Morrigan?" Gráinne questioned, trying to keep her voice even. "Is this why you befriended me, to gain my trust for this…ritual?"_

"_Caring for you, as a friend, as a sister…no, that was not part of the plan. But I cannot let what I feel interfere with what I must do, and neither should you. This is important to me. The fact that it may save your life makes me all the more determined to see it done."_

"_And if Alistair refuses? What then?"_

"_I leave now, for there is no other option."_

_Gráinne turned to face Morrigan. "So you would abandon me too?" she retorted. She knew her words to be childish, but she was too hurt to care._

_Morrigan saw the tears glistening in Gráinne's eyes and was nearly unnerved by them. In all the time they had spent together, through all the battles and hardships, never had she seen Gráinne cry. "This is…simply how it must be," she answered quietly. "I will not stand by to see you slain."_

_Gráinne closed her eyes, feeling hot tears stream down her face._

"_You could have told him, you know."_

"_And accomplished what?" she shot back angrily. "If I had bowed to my father's demands, I would have lost Alistair anyway."_

_She gave up everything, and in the end, she lost him. She was ready to sacrifice herself to kill the archdemon, but that did not necessarily mean she _would _be the one to do so. If it was Alistair…_

_She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. Andraste help her, Morrigan was right: this _was _the only option._

_She met Morrigan's gaze once more. "I'll go talk to him."_

_

* * *

_

A heavy air hung over the party, especially Gráinne, as they left Brother Genitivi's house. They had learned of Brother Genitivi's location in a small town called Haven, but at the cost of another life.

Of course, the way Gráinne had ended the imposter's life had been most puzzling indeed.

"I know it's been a while since I was part of the Chantry," Alistair said thoughtfully, "but last I knew, mages weren't taught to use swords."

"They're not," Gráinne replied.

"So…you learned as a child, then?"

"No."

"Pure luck, perhaps?"

She shot him a look. "No, it wasn't luck."

He held up his hands defensively. "I'm not trying to imply that mages can't use swords. It's just…I've never seen _anyone_ use a sword like that before."

Neither had she. When the man posing as Weylon attacked, she had grabbed his sword and struck him down with a single blow—a blow accompanied by the thrum of a powerful magical attack. The sword itself had caused damage, but it was the magic that had brought his death. What was especially interesting was the swiftness of her action; she had moved so fluidly, without a single moment's hesitation.

She could feel everyone's inquiring gaze upon her as they walked through Denerim to the city limits. She knew they would eventually voice their questions, expecting answers, but she had nothing to give just yet. Her mind distantly recalled the Brecilian ruins and the mysterious Life Gem. She had released the Presence from its prison in exchange for knowledge. The Arcane Warrior, the Presence called it.

They passed through the market when suddenly Alistair stopped. Gráinne followed his gaze to a small, worn-down house right across from the market. He stared at the house, his eyes slightly wide. His body had gone completely rigid.

Gráinne approached him and lightly touched his arm. "Alistair?"

"Has he gone catatonic, then?" Morrigan called back. The others had continued up the street but stopped when they realized two members of their party were missing.

"That's…my sister's house," he told her, his voice oddly strained. "I'm almost sure of it, this is…yes, this is the right address. She could be inside." He took a deep breath and turned to Gráinne. "Could we…go and see?"

She wanted to tell him no, that it was a bad idea, but she couldn't, not to that hopeful spark in his eyes. Besides, perhaps this was a chance for Alistair to find some semblance of family left in this world. Who was she to deny him that?

"Yes, of course," she answered. "But wouldn't you rather meet her on your own?"

"Do I seem a little nervous? I am. I really don't know what to expect." His words rushed out as his eyes flitted back and forth from the house to Gráinne.

_A _little_ nervous?_ she thought sardonically.

"I'd like you to be there with me, if you're willing." There was that hopeful spark again. And how could she not? This was important to him and, truth be told, she felt rather honored that he would want her to be a part of it.

"Or we could…leave, I suppose," he continued before she could respond. "We really don't have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go."

"Let's just see if she's home," Gráinne suggested calmly. "That won't take but a moment. I can tell the others to wait for us."

Alistair smiled nervously. "Really? All right, then." He looked back to the house. "Will she even know who I am? Does she even know I exist?" He seemed to be speaking to no one but himself. "My sister. That sounds very strange….'sister.' 'Siiiissster.'" He chuckled. " Now I'm babbling. Maybe we should go. Let's go. Let's just…go."

"All right, hold on. Don't rush off without me." She gave him a reassuring smile and turned to go tell the others to wait. Her smile faded, however, because she couldn't help the bad feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach. But she would be there with him no matter what…especially if things took a turn for the worse.

* * *

Oh, that was a _bad_ idea.

As they left Goldanna's house, the woman's shrill voice could still be heard ranting through the door. Alistair flinched at the sound of it, the shock and hurt of the encounter written all over his face.

Gráinne had wanted to smack the woman. She'd had a hard life and Gráinne couldn't blame her for her bitterness, but it wasn't Alistair's fault.

"That was…not what I expected, to put it lightly." He glanced back at the house and sighed heavily. "This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it."

She could only gaze at him in sympathy, unsure of what to say. She knew all too well the pain of being rejected by your family, the people you'd always believed would never abandon you.

"I…I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I…I feel like a complete idiot."

Gráinne gently cupped her hand under his chin and lifted his face so his eyes met hers. "You're not an idiot, Alistair," she told him sincerely. "And you're right, a person's family _is _supposed to accept them without question. But blood doesn't always make family. Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that." She knew her words were harsh but they had to be said.

Alistair took her hand in his and held it for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I should." He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. "Let's just go. I don't want to talk about this anymore." He let go of her hand and began to walk away without another glance at the house.

* * *

Alistair hardly spoke for the next few days. At times Gráinne would see him fingering his mother's amulet, which he now wore around his neck, then place it back underneath his armor and tunic. She debated attempting to talk with him, but something told her to wait, that he would come to her when he was ready. She knew what he was going through right now, and while a friend was always helpful, sometimes it was best to just be alone for a while.

Of course, that didn't keep anyone else—especially Morrigan—from making their own comments on the situation.

"You let her berate you? Without punishment?" she asked, incredulous.

"It's moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me," he responded wearily.

Morrigan gave a derisive snort. "'Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a toadstool."

Later, Gráinne caught up with Morrigan, out of Alistair's earshot. "Tone down on your mockery, will you?" she said in a low voice.

"'Tis not mockery if I speak the truth," Morrigan replied. "He allows himself to be a source of ridicule and deprecation for those who can see how weak he is, myself included. I honestly do not understand what it is you see in him."

"What are you talking about?" Gráinne asked warily.

Morrigan smiled at her knowingly. "You are not as discreet as you might think. 'Tis quite obvious that your relationship with him has grown beyond the bounds of friendship."

"And I'm sure you have an opinion on the matter."

Morrigan shrugged. "Yes, but I respect you, so I'll not speak it unless you wish for it. Or unless your future actions show a severe lapse of judgment."

Gráinne nodded. "Thank you, Morrigan."

Eventually, Gráinne took the lead of the group, with Zevran and Deimos not far behind. The party had traveled off the road and taken a route through the western part of Brecilian Forest. The woods were thick, forcing them to trek through a gully so that they might stay together.

"Do not tell me you have not sneaked a glance or two," she heard Zevran say.

Deimos gave a curious whine.

"I am not sure what standards you might have as a dog, but by my standards the view is most lovely."

The response was a low growl.

"I assure you, I am not leering so much as admiring. When you are presented with a beautiful female, do you not admire her attributes?"

Deimos barked enthusiastically.

Gráinne glanced back at the two of them, her eyebrow raised. Zevran grinned and winked.

The gully came to an end and they climbed out of it into a thick patch of underbrush. Gráinne halted, however, raising up her hand to stop the others. Something felt wrong. _Darkspawn_, her Warden senses told her.

She quickly turned to warn the others, just as a hurlock charged out of the underbrush, swinging an axe at her head and nearly decapitating her if Zevran hadn't swiftly pushed her down. She hit the ground with a hard thump, knocking the wind out of her. Gasping for breath, Gráinne struggled to her feet, staff in hand.

Darkspawn had trapped the others in the gully. There was no way she could cast a spell without harming the others; Wynne and Morrigan were struggling to use their magic effectively as it was. Zevran had borne the brunt of the oncoming attack; he had fallen and been dragged to the back to be defended by the others, blood pouring down his face. Gráinne leapt back into the gully and ran to his side.

"Zevran, are you all right?" The wound to his head had nearly split his skull open.

"I have fared better, my dear," he replied, his words slurred.

"Stay awake, Zevran," she commanded, her voice urgent. She gave him a hard pinch on his arm to get his attention, then ripped a long strip of cloth from the sleeve of her robe and applied it to his head. She then took the sword from his hand. "I need to borrow this."

"I want it returned perfectly intact."

"Of course."

Gráinne quickly scrambled up the wall of the gully and met several darkspawn. Magic thrummed through her sword hand and she attacked, slashing with a skill she didn't know she possessed. The world seemed to have become strangely silent, as if there was nothing else but the dance of battle. She vaguely heard her named called as she ducked to evade a sword strike and hacked off a darkspawn arm. Black blood sprayed on her face and robes.

The battle was over in moments, leaving about a dozen darkspawn bodies covering the ground around them. Gráinne descended back into the gully to see how the others fared. Wynne was already tending to Zevran while Alistair clutched his upper right arm, biting back a grimace of pain. The rest of them appeared unharmed.

"Let me see it," she said gently.

Alistair managed a grim smile. "Nothing but a scratch."

"Let me see it, Alistair."

He tentatively removed his bloodied hand. A darkspawn weapon had found its way through a loose section in his armor and left a nasty wound the length of her hand in the process. It was deep but luckily not to the bone. She didn't have a great deal of healing skill, but she could at least stop the bleeding until Wynne finished healing Zevran.

Gráinne held her hand over the wound and began to murmur a healing spell. A warm glow spread from her hand into Alistair's arm and, thank the Maker, the bleeding ceased.

"That should hold you over for the next few minutes," she said.

"Thank you," he breathed, his face ashen.

"If we had sensed them earlier, this wouldn't have happened," Gráinne pointed out, her brow furrowed in concern. "Why didn't we sense them until they were nearly upon us?"

"I don't know," Alistair said. "There's a strange energy here in the Forest, so it could be that. Or…the darkspawn are growing stronger."

* * *

The party managed to navigate their way through the trees to a clearing not far from the road. It was more open but allowed them to keep a clear watch in case of another ambush.

Zevran had suffered a concussion on top of a cracked skull, but Wynne had skillfully mended his injury, as well as Alistair's. Every member of the party was now either injured or exhausted from the exertions of healing, travel, and battle. It had most certainly been a hard day.

It was Gráinne's turn for first watch. As the others headed to their tents, she rifled through some of the spare equipment until she found a spare sword. She unsheathed it and held it out, feeling the magic in her veins hum yet again. She gave the sword a few casual swings, feeling her personal energy connect with the sword. In hindsight, she'd realized that the connection was never quite right in her past few attempts at using a sword. She'd been able to wield the weapon effectively, but it was never a perfect fit. Like wearing mismatched socks.

"I should inform you that the fact that you can fight with both magic _and_ a sword makes you ten times scarier than before."

"Well, that should give you more incentive to follow my orders," she responded, sheathing the sword as Alistair sat down on a fallen log they'd dragged over to the campfire.

"Ha, as if I needed any more incentive. You were scary enough to begin with." He handed her a mug of steaming tea and took a sip from his own. "You were amazing, though. How do you do it?"

She recounted the story of the Life Gem in the ruins.

"I've never heard of any arcane warriors," Alistair remarked. "No mention of it in the Chantry library that I can remember. It must be an old form of magic."

Gráinne nodded. "I believe it is. The Presence was very old."

After a few moments of silence, Alistair spoke again. "I'm sorry for the way I've been the past few days," he said quietly. "I've wanted to talk to you about…what happened, but I'm just not ready yet."

"It's all right. I understand," she replied with a smile. "I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

He returned the smile. "Thank you. That…means more to me than you know."

She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Get some sleep," she told him. "That's an order."

"As you say, my dear lady."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Sooo, lemon chapter is lemony. This was an incredible challenge to write and if I thought writing lime was difficult, this was worse. In a fun yet very frustrating way. The imagination can only go so far before you suddenly start to worry that it's going to read like a smutty romance novel._

_Comments and criticisms are most definitely appreciated for this chapter, especially regarding the lemon. Too much, too little, just right? Feel free to let me know._

_In the meantime, I'll be off in the corner, scratching my head at where in gods' name I'm taking chapter eight, as well as trying to work on a paper that I should have done this past semester (whoops). I'm hoping to have another update before Christmas._

_Enjoy!_

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_**Chapter Seven**_

It had been pouring rain for days now. The rain incessantly soaked through everyone's armor and clothing, no matter how many drying spells were cast. At this point, Gráinne had resigned herself to the fact that she would almost certainly never be dry again.

The weather was not particularly agreeable for her leg, either. The wound was still healing and because of the constant moisture, the bandages had to be changed frequently to avoid further infection. On top of that, the Drakon River had flooded its banks, forcing them to take an alternative route and slowing their progress considerably. Gráinne found it increasingly difficult to keep control of her temper, especially with the painful ache in her knee.

They were trekking through an especially muddy field when her boot was sucked into the mud, causing her to stumble and twist her knee in the process. As she let out an angry cry of pain, a strong pair of hands caught her before she landed face-first into the mud. She looked up to see Alistair studying her from underneath the hood of his soaked cloak, his face full of concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Just…fine," she said through gritted teeth as she tugged her leg out of the mud, nearly pulling her foot out of her boot in the process. "Just my usual cold, tired, wet, and aching self. You?"

"Maybe we should stop for the night. It'll be dark in a few hours time, and it's not like we'll get far in this weather anyway."

"Oh yes, brilliant," she retorted. "Let's set up camp in the middle of an open flooded field. Oh, and did I mention that it's pouring rain? I'm sure—"

Before she could speak another word, Alistair grabbed her by her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"What in Andraste's name are you doing?" she yelped.

"Hmm, what was that, dear?" Alistair replied lightly over his shoulder. "I couldn't hear you over this annoying shrilling in my ear."

"Alistair, put me down," Gráinne demanded, exasperated.

"No. You're injured, tired, and quite cranky. It's a lot easier for everyone, especially you, if I just carry you through the rest of the field until we reach shelter."

"Can you at least allow me a more dignified position?"

"But I'm enjoying the view."

She playfully smacked his backside, causing him to jerk in surprise.

"Careful, or we'll both end up in the mud," he said with a chuckle.

She resigned herself to the situation and rested against Alistair's back, grateful to have the pressure taken off her leg. The rain still came down steadily, but at this point she was too numb and wet to care.

"There's an abandoned barn at the end of the field, not too far ahead," Leliana announced. "Zevran and Sten have gone to check and make sure it's safe for the night."

"Fine by me," Gráinne called over Alistair's shoulder. She felt Alistair's body shake with laughter.

"Judging by the look on Leliana's face, I'm pretty sure she had no idea what to make of this."

Gráinne snorted. "It's your fault."

"My fault for trying to be a gentleman and help a beautiful lady in distress? Yes, perish the thought. What a horrible man I am."

"Yes, indeed. I shall have to punish you for it."

"Well that certainly sounds promising…"

After another fifteen minutes of sloshing through mud, they stopped. "Here we are," Alistair declared, setting Gráinne down on the ground again.

She wiped the fresh rainwater from her eyes and looked at their shelter for the night.

Déjà vu.

She glanced around the area, wondering if she was imagining it, but things slowly fell into place. The field was less wooded than before. But there, not far from where they stood, were the two willow trees, still at the edge of the old farmland, their branches entwined like two lovers. She studied the barn for a moment and realized it still bore the same red paint, though a great deal more faded than when she last saw it.

Oh, but the Maker had a wicked sense of humor. This _was_ the same barn, the same farmland from her childhood. The barn had been her sanctuary when she'd been curious about her magic and wanted to experiment with it, far from the disapproving eyes of her parents. In their detour they must have headed closer to South Reach than she realized, which meant that her father's land was only a couple miles away.

Her heart lodged in her throat and stuck there. It had been over ten years. So much had changed and yet so little…

Sten approached them, hardly noticing the rain dripping down his face. "It is adequate shelter for the night," he informed her. "We will be able to spot any enemies that might come our way. The elf also uncovered a fire pit on the other side of the barn, beneath an overhang."

Gráinne nodded. Yes, she remembered it; she'd often used that fire pit to test her strength with fire. "Let's make camp here then."

Once inside the barn, she pulled back the hood of her cloak. There were tall piles of loose hay scattered all around, and though it was old, it was still dry. Even if the building was no longer used, it had yet to fall into a state of disrepair.

She helped the others gather a few spare crates from the barn to use as firewood until Wynne fussed at her enough about her leg that she desisted. The older mage pulled her aside to examine the wound and change the bandage. Luckily, it was still healing quite well; the purple fester marks had disappeared and no further damage had been caused.

When there was nothing more to do than wait for the gruel that would be their meal, Gráinne grabbed her pack and shoved her way through the hay to the back of the barn. The ladder was still there; she gave it a shake to find that it was still secure and sturdy. She hoisted her pack over her shoulder and climbed up to the loft.

It was smaller than she remembered it—or was it because she had gotten bigger? There was still more than enough room to sleep, however, and enough piles of hay scattered about to make it rather cozy. She unpacked her bedroll, cast another drying spell on her cloak and robes, and curled up to rest before supper. It was so relaxing that she quickly dozed off.

A gentle tapping on her arm woke her up. Alistair was perched at the top of the ladder, a shy grin on his face. "Mind if I join you?"

Gráinne moved over to make room. "Not at all."

He climbed into the loft and laid out his bedroll. He'd already removed his armor and dried his clothes, so when he lied beside her she immediately nestled up against his chest.

"I'm your pillow now, am I?" he joked, wrapping his arms around her.

"Yes," she murmured. "It's your punishment for being such a horrible man and carrying me through the field."

She felt him press a light kiss to her forehead. "I have seen the error of my ways. You've certainly taught me a lesson."

Gráinne smiled and snuggled closer. He was so warm and comfortable that the lull of sleep was even stronger than before. She knew she should probably stay awake for a while longer, but couldn't really think of a compelling reason why she should.

Until Alistair began talking.

"I've been thinking…about what you said," he told her. "And…you're right. I've always tried to believe the best in people and that's only left me as easy bait for them to use me. I need to learn to think for myself."

She adjusted her head so that she could look up at him. "You don't have to always follow what I say, you know. That's part of thinking for yourself—knowing when to take the advice of others."

Alistair shook his head. "I'm not doing it simply because you said it. I'm doing it because it makes sense. It's about time I stopped blindly following what everyone tells me to do."

"Does that mean I'll have a mutiny on my hands now?"

"Hardly." He propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at her with his warm brown eyes. "For one thing, I'm too afraid of losing a limb—or worse."

"I would do no such thing. You're far more useful against the darkspawn whole than in pieces."

"Is that the only reason?" he asked quietly.

Gráinne softened her voice and smiled. "Of course not."

Maker help him, she was far more beautiful than she realized. It was going to drive him insane.

He heard Wynne call to them that food was ready. Gráinne let out a groan and threw her cloak over her head, to which Alistair laughed.

"Come on, we need to eat something."

"But I'm warm," she whined.

"And you'll be even warmer once you have something in your stomach. Come on."

Gráinne sat up, pouting, and it took all of his willpower not to kiss her because if he did, they'd most certainly never leave the loft.

* * *

After a bowlful of gruel that filled her stomach, if nothing else, Gráinne headed back into the barn with the intention of getting a good night's rest. The sky had already begun to grow dark and the rain remained steady. Thankfully, she had the night off from the watch, otherwise she might become homicidal from having her sleep interrupted.

She was just about to ascend the ladder up to the loft when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned to face Alistair.

"There's…something I want to ask," he said in a low voice. He shifted so that a pile of hay blocked him from sight from the others, who were still around the fire pit. "All right, I guess I really don't know how to ask you this…"

"Ask me what?" She tried desperately to maintain her patience. Her body was beginning to throw a temper tantrum for sleep.

"Oh, how do I say this?" He nervously glanced over his shoulder at the others, making sure no one was listening or watching. "You'd think it would be easier, but every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode," he continued, gesturing and clenching his hands. "I-I can't think straight."

Gráinne smirked. "Well, I am a mage, after all—and a female one, at that. I tend to have that effect on people, whether they like it or not."

Alistair smiled. "Yes, well, here's the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you." He stepped closer, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "Not ever."

Her stomach did a strange little somersault. What exactly was he getting at…?

"I don't know how to say this another way, but I want to spend the night with you."

"You don't really need to ask, the loft is big enough for—" She stopped short and her eyes widened slightly when she realized what he meant. "…Oh." A hot blush spread across her cheeks. _You idiot, what_else_ would he have meant_?

"Maybe this is too fast," he stammered. "I wouldn't want you to feel forced to do anything you don't want, it's just…I don't know. I just know how I feel."

"This is a little sudden," she admitted. "But I can't say I don't want to."

Alistair took a deep breath and seemed to gain a bit more confidence. "I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place—I especially wanted to wait until we were alone…but when will it be perfect? If things were, we wouldn't even have met. We sort of…stumbled into each other, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else."

Without a second thought, she threw her arms around him and crushed her lips against his. He was taken by surprise but his lips reacted fiercely as he held her close. After a moment, he reluctantly pulled away from her.

"I really don't want to wait anymore," he murmured into her ear. "I've never done this before, but I want it to be with you."

Gráinne whispered back, "I feel the same way."

It was a good deal darker in the loft, away from the campfire, but it wasn't long before their eyes adjusted. At first they just sat next to one another on their bedrolls, just for a moment, before their lips met again in the darkness. The kiss was as soft and as innocent as the first one they shared, with nearly as much hesitation.

Despite the nervous fluttering in her stomach, Gráinne felt that hunger begin to awaken in her. It overrode every tired ache in her body and gradually filled her blood with fire. Her mouth parted and Alistair's tongue glided in, flitting back and forth against her own, as his hand caressed her cheek. His fingertips then slowly traced their way along her neck and collarbone, causing her to shiver, until they swept along her chest.

She lowered her mouth to his neck and circled her tongue along his skin before she gently bit down and began to suck the tender flesh. He groaned and clenched the sides of her tunic tightly. Gráinne attempted to lean back and pull him down to her, but ended up losing her balance and the two of them clumsily fell onto the bedroll. She burst into a fit of giggles.

"That was certainly graceful," Alistair teased.

"Oh, shut up."

"Gladly," he rumbled, lowering his mouth to hers once more. One hand was entangled in her hair, which had fallen loose from its messy braid, while the other moved along her side down to her hip, eventually slipping beneath her tunic and back upwards against her bare skin. Her body tensed as he reached her breast and cupped it in his hand, squeezing it gently. Involuntarily, she lifted her hips and pressed against him, the feel of his arousal instantly producing an ache between her legs. He grasped her breast tighter and her nipple hardened beneath his thumb.

In one swift movement, she flipped Alistair onto his back and straddled him. He let out a surprised laugh as she yanked his tunic over his head and threw it to the side. She left a trail of kisses down the center of his chest, then ran her tongue along his muscular abdomen. As her mouth advanced further down, he released a strangled gasp. She relished the moment and delighted in her ability to torture him.

"Gráinne," he panted.

She raised herself up and tugged off her tunic, then spread herself on top of him. His mouth frantically devoured hers before traveling down her neck to her breasts; she moaned breathily and roughly gripped his hair. He turned and laid her on her back, kneeling between her legs. His hands fumbled at the waist of her pants. She obliged by unfastening the ties, allowing him to pull them off. He then fought with his own pants, nearly falling over as he wrenched them off.

"Stupid clothing," he muttered. Gráinne covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Alistair positioned himself over her and gazed at her body admiringly. "By the Maker, you are so beautiful…" He brushed his lips to hers and paused.

"What is it?" she managed to whisper. Every part of her body throbbed with longing.

His eyes glittered in the darkness. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she reassured. Even if it did hurt, she wanted this too badly to care.

He kissed her deeply and without another moment's hesitation, pushed himself inside her. She gasped at the mixture of pleasure and pain, digging her nails into Alistair's shoulders. He slowly pulled back and slid into her again, this time causing both of them to gasp. She encouraged him by tilting her hips and tightening her legs around his waist. He continued to steadily thrust and she closed her eyes, arching her back in pleasure, for it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

Everything around them vanished: there was no Blight, no darkspawn lurking around every corner, no archdemon. There was no Loghain, no fighting for their lives. At this moment there was only the two of them, lost in desire for one another. There was emotion, deeper and more overwhelming than she would have ever thought possible. She never wanted this moment to end.

The pressure between them built. Her body was burning, as sure and hot as fire, and she matched his every movement with a thrust of her hips in a frenzied rhythm. Gráinne bit her lip, releasing only soft moans, because if she didn't she would scream so loud that all of the darkspawn would be upon them. Alistair's moans were low and throaty in her ear as he drove deeper into her without reservation. As their pace quickened, faster and harder, she clasped her legs even tighter around him, urging him as she neared the breaking point. His hand seized her hair and his movements became desperate until he gave one hard, final thrust, forcing them both over the edge.

Gráinne felt his release and crushed his lips to hers, each of them unleashing muffled cries of pure ecstasy. Oh, how she burned, body and soul, hotter and brighter than any star in the sky, and it seemed like it would never end and she would trade anything in the world for it not to.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Holy ridiculous hiatus, Batman! My brain decided to go into complete shutdown mode once the semester started. Every time I tried to work on this chapter it died on me faster than a f-ing Chevy. Then, I played through the Awakening expansion and the plot bunnies commenced._

_Thanks to everyone who's been reading and favoriting and leaving fantastic reviews; I really appreciate it. Now that I've beaten this chapter into submission, I hope to finish this fic within the next month or so._

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* * *

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_**Chapter Eight**_

"I love you," Alistair whispered to her in the darkness.

His words brought a smile to Gráinne's face. "I love you too," she murmured, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

They lied next to each other, their naked bodies barely touching beneath the blankets. The rain had begun to lessen, now only a gentle patter on the barn roof. Below, she could hear Wynne and Deimos snoring, almost in unison, and the crackling of the burning firewood.

She'd never known happiness until this moment. Her life only consisted of a few moments of contentment that she'd managed in her childhood and during her training at the Circle. She'd never known the warmth that spread through her entire being—the warmth of being loved and cared for. Lying there in Alistair's arms, the whole world faded from existence: the darkspawn, the archdemon, Loghain, everything. The mouth of Hell could open up and swallow them whole and she wouldn't even blink an eyelash.

Alistair propped himself up on his elbow. "You do realize the rest of our little party here is going to talk, right?"

Gráinne traced her fingertips along Alistair's jaw line, then down his neck and shoulder. "First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn."

He gave a low chuckle. "See, this is why I love you."

"So you mentioned."

"I did? Well, it won't kill you to hear it again, will it?" He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his hand curling around her waist, pulling her closer. The feel of his body against her, firm and warm, sent another pulse of desire through her veins.

_No, it wouldn't_, she thought, pulling him on top of her.

* * *

Gráinne woke up the next morning, shivering with cold. She sat up groggily and glanced around to find that Alistair had stolen all the blankets in the middle of the night, barely leaving her any to cover her body. She resisted the urge to smack him with her pillow and instead pulled on her pants and tunic, rubbing her arms in an attempt to get warm.

The grey light that filtered through the barn told her that it was nearly dawn. Now that the rain had stopped, they would need to move as soon as possible in order to regain the distance they'd lost. She glanced at Alistair, who slept with such an innocent and contented look on his face, and regretted the quick return to duty. With a heavy sigh, she climbed down from the loft, taking care to avoid waking anyone else. Nearly everyone appeared to still be asleep as well, nestled among piles of hay.

Outside, Wynne sat beside the campfire, preparing a pot of tea. Gráinne was grateful to see that she was bright-eyed and alert. Perhaps all the elder mage had needed was a good bit of rest from time to time, she thought. It wasn't easy on any of them to be forced into the constant cycle of traveling and fighting for their lives every day.

"Good morning, Warden," Wynne greeted.

"Good morning." Gráinne stepped close toward the fire, grateful for the warmth. She gently rubbed her leg, which still gave a slight ache.

"I trust your leg did not bother you overmuch during the night?"

"No, it's doing much better, thank you." In fact, she'd completely forgotten about it during the night, but she wasn't about to mention that to Wynne.

Wynne poured the now boiling water into her mug. "Well, I'm sure Alistair has become most…attentive to your needs."

Gráinne raised an eyebrow. The tone of Wynne's voice was far too suggestive for the comment to be casual. "Is there something you wish to say about it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding too challenging.

Their eyes met for a moment. "Love is ultimately selfish," Wynne said quietly. "A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish."

"That is your opinion," Gráinne replied. "Not the truth."

"Perhaps," said Wynne. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"It doesn't mean you're right, either." She turned and headed back into the barn before her temper compelled her to tell the elder mage off.

Gráinne did not want to admit the truth in Wynne's words. What if she was forced to choose between Alistair and Ferelden, or vice versa? Ultimately, she would have no choice; their foremost duty as Grey Wardens was to defeat the archdemon and the Blight, even if it meant one of them had to sacrifice the other for the good of Ferelden. Even if by some miracle of fate they could bypass the complication of Alistair's potential to inherit the throne, imminent death lingered in the shadows, simply waiting.

Wynne was right: love was selfish.

Alistair met her just outside the barn door, fully dressed but his hair still mussed from sleep. She saw his eyes light up at the sight of her and he smiled, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. The sight of his smile and his loving eyes chased away every dark thought in her mind.

"Good morning," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a long, lingering kiss.

For once in her life, even if it was only for a little while, she wanted to be selfish.

* * *

"This is what religion will get you," Morrigan announced as she stepped over the dismembered body of a cultist, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Nothing but zealots eager to shed the blood of others who don't follow their beliefs."

"This is not the true way of the Maker," Leliana lamented. "Andraste must surely weep for these poor people."

Gráinne saw Morrigan roll her eyes, a sentiment she agreed with. She respected Leliana's faith and the faith of those who followed the Chantry, but she had never been a particularly religious person. The Chantry's overbearing control of the Circle made her resent religion more than anything.

They picked through the dead bodies of the cultists for any useful supplies. Most of them bore only crude weapons and armor, with a few scraps of food and poultices. Yet their fanaticism had made them formidable foes, especially when Gráinne and the others were already struggling against the bitter cold of the mountain. The overseer had been particularly challenging; he'd charged at Gráinne before she could target a spell at him, swinging a blow that just barely missed slicing through her arm.

She knelt beside his body and reached to pry the sword from his dead grip. He hadn't handled the weapon particularly well, which had made it easier to dodge his blows. It was apparent that the sword was ill-cared for but still quite beautiful, and with a little work it would be salvageable.

The sword hummed with magic that, as soon as Gráinne gripped the hilt, instantly silenced. It was not a dead silence, but a silence of tranquility that resonated deeply with her magic, stilling the chaos. The sword connected with her so strongly that she could hardly separate steel from flesh, like it had become an extension of her arm.

Someone called her name. She unbuckled the sheath from the overseer's body and attached it around her waist, then rejoined the others.

* * *

When at last they retrieved Andraste's ashes, they left the ruined temple, eager to get off the mountain and away from the cold. Unfortunately, the sky had already begun to darken as they made their descent, and they had no choice but to make camp on the mountainside.

Morrigan stood waiting for Gráinne so that the two of them could go gather firewood. Gráinne set aside her pack at the spot where she'd set up her tent; Morrigan, meanwhile, grumbled about the cold until Gráinne threw a thick fur cloak at her, a spare they had scavenged from one of the cultists.

Morrigan gave the cloak a disgusted look but threw it on over her shoulders.

They trudged down the mountain, about a stone's throw from camp, before they found a patch of shrubbery that had long been dead. They began to pull at the dead pieces, which broke off fairly easily, as quick as their numb fingers allowed.

"I take it you and Alistair have been doing quite well recently," Morrigan commented.

"What makes you say that?" Gráinne asked. Since surprisingly few comments had been made concerning their growing relationship, she planned to keep the matter as ambiguous o the others as possible, even to Morrigan.

" 'Tis quite obvious. Every time you and that fool exchange glances you grin for hours afterward."

"I do not," Gráinne protested. Despite the icy air, a hot blush crept into Gráinne's cheeks.

Morrigan chuckled. "Oh yes, indeed you do. 'Tis rather sickening really, but I suppose 'tis tolerable enough, so long as you are happy. Though I certainly hope he is pleasant enough in bed, for I cannot imagine anyone enduring the conversation of that idiot."

"Perhaps, but he's _my_ idiot," Gráinne replied with a smile.

"And better you than the rest of us."

They returned to the camp as quickly as they could, for a sharp wind had started, biting through their clothing with ease. Gráinne cast a quick spell to start the campfire, which she and the rest of her companions gratefully huddled around. Alistair scooted close to her, nonchalantly draping his arm over her shoulders. She caught a look of disapproval from Wynne and promptly ignored it.

"Well, at least we'll be off this blasted mountain by tomorrow," Alistair began. "Redcliffe should only take a few days. I think we'll be defrosted by then."

"We still need to go to Orzammar," Gráinne reminded. "We need to obtain the alliance of the dwarves."

"But what about Arl Eamon?" Alistair protested. "We have Andraste's ashes now. We need to get to him before—before he…" His voice trailed off, unwilling to voice the possibility of the arl's death.

"We will, Alistair. But Orzammar is closer— " Before she could finish, Alistair abruptly stood up and away, quickly fading from view in the growing darkness. She hurriedly followed, her body turning cold once she stepped away from the fire.

"Aw, they are having their first lover's quarrel," she heard Zevran quip, and swore to deal with him later.

"Alistair," she called out. He'd already gained a considerable distance ahead of her; she struggled through the snow to catch up with him.

"Alistair, wait!"

He stopped and turned toward her. "The arl is like a father to me," he said angrily, "and you're just going to let him die?" When she did not respond, he continued, "Is it really so easy for you to decide what's more important? To decide who lives and who dies?"

"No," she whispered. _But everyone expects me to,_ she wanted to say. She wanted to say that it should have been his responsibility to lead them, not hers; he was the senior Grey Warden yet he still relied on her to bear the burden of saving Ferelden. She wanted to yell at him for daring to question her decision when he didn't even have the courage to step forward in the first place.

"I'm sorry," was all she could say. She took the pouch of ashes from her pocket and pressed them into his hand. Alistair looked at her questioningly.

"Go to Redcliffe," she said. "You're right; we need the arl just as much as we need the treaty. We'll split up in the morning."

"Gráinne–" The last thing Alistair wanted was to be separated again, but if the arl died…

"I'll let the others know."She walked back to camp without another word, fighting the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

_She was a girl again, not even ten years old, running through the field. It was exhilarating, this feeling of freedom, as she raced through the tall weeds, her arms spread out widely. She wanted nothing more than to escape far, far away from this place._

_It was getting dark. Mummy and Daddy would want her home soon, but she didn't want to go home. They would only yell at her again, and it was always the same thing: "Control your magic, or else you'll be sent away and never come home again."_

_She tried to control it, she really did, even though sometimes it burned so badly she wanted to scream. Sometimes she would run to the old barn and scream into a pile of hay, just to relieve the pain._

_And sometimes there would be nightmares. Horrible nightmares with monsters she couldn't even describe. Before they would only come to her at night while she slept, but more and more often now they came to her during the day, while she was wide awake. But she couldn't tell anyone these things, especially not Mummy and Daddy. They would surely send her away if they knew…_

_

* * *

_

_Her father's hand sharply connected with the side of her face, leaving it red and stinging. She bit back a whimper of pain as her eyes welled with tears._

"_You stupid child," he yelled. "You have disgraced this family for the last time. What were you thinking? Did you not realize that you would be seen? Is it so hard to control yourself?" He roughly gripped her face with his hand and glared into her eyes. "I warned you, that if you did not learn to control it you would be sent away. Now you will never be part of this family again."_

_Her father's face transformed; the eyes became smoldering pits of fire, the face grotesquely contorted. His voice was now an unintelligible snarling as his fingers, now claws, dug into her face, drawing blood. She began to scream…_

* * *

Gráinne awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest and her body shaking. The sour taste at the back of her throat threatened to make her retch. She grabbed the nearby skin of water and greedily drank. She closed her eyes, willing the images of her nightmare away, but they seemed burned into her mind permanently.

Ever since they'd entered the Deep Roads, such nightmares and worse haunted her mind. It had grown so terrible that she only managed an hour or two of sleep a day, if she measured the passage of time correctly. She hated the lack of sun and sky, being so far beneath the surface, like she was buried and suffocating.

Most of all, she hated that she'd been trapped in another conflict and forced to act as arbitrator. It wasn't enough that the darkspawn were teeming from the depths of the earth, threatening to destroy everything in their path—no, it was far more important that she be sent into the Deep Roads for this so-called Anvil of the Void, just to settle the petty dwarven politics.

It was absolutely ridiculous, she thought as she settled back onto her bedroll.

She closed her eyes, even though sleep was no longer an option. She drove away the images of her nightmare with thoughts of Alistair. If all went well, he would have reached Redcliffe by now with Zevran, Wynne, and Sten. In fact, the arl was probably already recovered from his illness and preparing to lead the opposition against Loghain.

Before long Gráinne dozed off, her mind unable to fend off exhaustion any longer. It was short-lived, however: her Warden senses woke her with a jolt of warning. At once she grabbed her sword and scrambled out of her tent to alert the others of the presence of darkspawn.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I apologize again for the delay in updating this story. Life has gotten in the way too much the past couple months and I haven't had much of a chance to really work on this. This is starting to change, thankfully._

_Also, not quite sure what exactly Fanfiction is up to with story formatting, because it's not recognizing the breaks in the narrative. I'll have to find some way to fix this._

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* * *

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_**Chapter Nine**_

_He sees the darkness inside you…_

As a mage she could become an Abomination, and as a Grey Warden she bore the Taint of darkspawn. As they traveled through the overbearing silence of the Deep Roads, Gráinne's mind melded the images of Connor and Ruck into one being: a perverse, twisted creature with her face. _That's what you will become_, a voice spoke softly in the back of her mind. She tried desperately to push those thoughts aside, to ignore the growing whispers that told her she would fail, that she would never know love or happiness because she didn't deserve it. She relinquished all sleep because it only brought her nightmares.

It had become so much for her to bear. She wanted to give up, to simply walk away and let everyone else deal with the problems they had brought upon themselves. This was not the path she had chosen when she became a Grey Warden. Why did she always have to resolve everything?

During a brief stop to rest, as Gráinne reached into her pack for her water skin, her fingers brushed against something soft and velvety. She pulled out the rose that Alistair had given her, still as beautiful as the day it had been picked. She remembered the night he had given it to her, how she'd smiled at the fluttering in her stomach as she cast a preserving spell on the rose to maintain its beauty. She brushed the deep red petals against her nose and breathed in its rich scent.

_I…I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness._

Slowly, the shadows began to withdraw, though she knew they would always remain.

When at last they emerged from the depths of the earth, Gráinne took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, as if she were breathing for the very first time. The sun was bright on the snows of the mountain and the sky was a brilliant azure. As Gráinne descended the stairs with Morrigan, Oghren, and Deimos at her side, Leliana came running up to them. She had chosen to return to the surface when the others went into the Deep Roads in order to listen for any news of Ferelden.

"Thank Andraste you are all right," she said. "I was so worried for you after hearing such dreadful stories of the Deep Roads."

"Has anything happened?" Gráinne asked.

"Thankfully, no, not since we went underground to Orzammar," Lelianna said. "We were only underground for five days."

Gráinne stared at her. "Only five?" She could have sworn she had spent a lifetime underground, buried beneath miles of earth and stone.

A deep moan erupted from Oghren as he stared at the sky, slowly turning in circles. Gráinne clamped her hand down on his shoulder to hold him still before he fell over.

"Our new stray," Morrigan said in response to Leliana's questioning look.

"Ancestor's tits, how do you surface dwellers deal with so much sky?" Oghren muttered.

* * *

The town of Redcliffe was still in the process of recovery when Gráinne returned with her companions. While many still mourned for all those that had been lost, the townspeople celebrated the miraculous recovery of Arl Eamon. Though Gráinne possessed little religious inclinations, she thanked the Maker, or whatever power that existed, for allowing Alistair to reach the Arl in time.

Soldiers greeted them in the main courtyard of Redcliffe Castle and, upon hearing their names, allowed them through. Bann Teagan met them, his face alight.

"Maker be blessed, you've returned," he said. "Eamon has recovered, thanks to you. We owe you a great debt, Warden."

"I am glad to hear that the Arl has been healed," Gráinne replied. "I only hope he will be willing to help us against Loghain."

"He has had a great deal to cope with, after everything that has happened," Teagan said. "But he does have a plan of action. He waits to speak with you in the main hall."

"Very well," she said. "Are there enough lodgings for the rest of my companions?"

"Certainly," Teagan said. "There should still be plenty of food left from the midday meal in the kitchens."

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Oghren declared. "I've had enough of this sodding travel food; give me some meat and ale!"

Teagan directed one of the servants to lead her companions to the kitchens, while he and Gráinne left for the main hall, where both Arl Eamon and Alistair awaited them. Alistair gave her an affectionate smile but made no move for physical contact, as decorum instructed. She returned the smile, though it wasn't as warm as he had hoped. Then again, they hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms.

"Arl Eamon," Gráinne addressed with a bow.

"You are most welcome, Grey Warden," Arl Eamon returned. His face was gaunt from his illness, but his eyes still flashed with strength and vitality. "Alistair has told me of the risk you took in order to save me. You have not only saved my life but kept my family safe as well. I am in your debt."

"With all due respect, your grace, I am more concerned with dealing with Loghain," Gráinne said.

"Of course," the Arl agreed. "His actions are most troubling. He instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man, one who never desired power."

"I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon," Teagan pointed out. "He is mad with ambition, I tell you."

"Mad indeed. Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands." Eamon sighed heavily. "Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end."

"But you can unite the nobility against Loghain, can't you?" Gráinne asked.

"I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes. But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies."

"You both are well-respected among the nobility. Surely once they learn of his treachery you will be able to sway more of them to our side."

Arl Eamon shook his head. "We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn."

He slowly began to pace, then faced the large fireplace that heated the main hall, his back toward them. "We can spread word of his treachery, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen."

A lump formed in Gráinne's throat. Yes, it was as she expected.

Teagan stared at his brother. "Are you referring to Alistair, Brother? Are you certain?"

Arl Eamon faced them again. "I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."

Alistair stood by her side, but she didn't dare turn to meet his gaze.

"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain," Eamon continued. "Alistair's claim is by blood."

"And what about me?" Alistair exclaimed. "Does anyone care what I want?"

_It doesn't matter what you want, _Gráinne thought wearily. _All that matters is what's required of you_.

"You have a responsibility, Alistair," the Arl told him, echoing Gráinne's thoughts. "Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?"

_Yes, guilt him into doing what you want_.

"I…but I…" Alistair looked to the ground helplessly. "No, my lord."

Arl Eamon gave a satisfactory nod. "I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet in Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. In the meantime, take your rest here in Redcliffe Castle. You and your companions have more than earned it."

Gráinne bowed. "Thank you, my lord." She turned to leave, sensing Alistair close behind her.

"Alistair, stay. I must speak with you."

Without glancing behind her, Gráinne left the room. Down the hall she could hear her reunited companions in the kitchen, talking and laughing. She wanted to join them, to eat and drink, to take a moment to enjoy the company of friends. But she was simply not capable of doing so. Exhaustion and pain did not permit it. She slowly climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, her armor becoming heavier with every step.

Alistair would be king. He would rule Ferelden and lead an army against the darkspawn. He would have a duty to his people, one that ultimately would not include her. She was not "suitable," she thought, smiling ruefully at the echo of her father's voice in that word. "Suitable." She was a mage and a Grey Warden, with no longer any ties to a claim of nobility. She had no political power, no wealth, nothing but a gift that even Alistair had been disdainful of.

Gráinne opened the door to her room and closed it behind her. She didn't want to think anymore; it was too much for her to handle at that moment with such little sleep. But as much as she wanted to lie down and sleep for the next week, the bathtub of steaming hot water in the corner of the room called to her even more. She couldn't remember the last time she had bathed properly and she was certain she smelled like it.

She seated herself on a chair and began to remove pieces of her armor, hesitating when she came to her breastplate. A battle with an ogre on the Deep Roads had resulted in a dislocated shoulder and the muscles were still sore, limiting her movement. Clenching her teeth, she reached to undo the straps of the breastplate, wincing at the renewed pain in her shoulder. It took a few moments and a number of deep, calming breaths, but at last she loosened the straps enough to slip the armor off. She then stripped off her soiled clothing, barely recognizable as anything more than scraps of fabric, and sunk into the bathtub. The hot water soothed her weary body, easing the tension from her muscles.

She wanted nothing more than to sit in the tub but sleep threatened too strongly to overtake her. Resignedly, Gráinne washed her hair and body, rinsed, and climbed out of the tub. She wrapped herself in the bathrobe the servants had provided for her and slipped beneath the covers of the bed, not even bothering to get dressed. Sleep took her within moments.

* * *

"Well, go on." The door made a slight creak.

It took a moment before Gráinne realized she had woken up. She couldn't have been asleep long; she could still sense behind her eyelids the daylight that streamed through the windows. She kept her eyes shut and listened as the door was quietly closed and a familiar sniffing sound echoed through the room.

"See, she's fine. She's tired, that's all," a voice whispered. Footsteps drew closer.

"No, you cannot jump on the bed," the voice said firmly. "You haven't had a bath yet, and trust me, you do not want to get on Agnes' bad side for dirtying the bedding."

His words were followed by a pitiful whine.

"Besides, I'm pretty sure your mistress wouldn't appreciate it that much either."

"Oh, I don't know," Gráinne murmured. "You didn't smell much better and I still let you into my bed." She opened her eyes and smiled at Alistair.

"Yes, well, at least I don't drool, have fleas, or hump your leg."

Gráinne gave him a meaningful look.

Alistair sighed. "It's happened. Morrigan's called me a dog so much I'm beginning to turn into one."

Deimos gave a happy bark as Gráinne bit back her laughter.

"You're still not jumping on the bed," he told the Mabari. "You're due for your bath anyhow, and you do not want to keep Agnes waiting."

"You better go, Deimos," Gráinne said, reaching out to scratch him behind the ears. "This Agnes sounds worse than the archdemon."

"If I had a choice, I would gladly deal with the archdemon over that woman," Alistair said as he let Deimos out of the room. He came back to the side of the bed and knelt by it. "I'm sorry if we woke you, but he insisted."

"It's all right."

"And I'm sorry for what I said to you that night on the mountain," he continued. "It wasn't fair of me to corner you like that, not when you've been under so much pressure." His gaze turned to the floor. "I suppose soon enough I'll know what that's like."

Gráinne didn't respond. She didn't want to think of it, not yet. "Come lie with me," she said gently.

Alistair kicked off his boots and settled onto the other side of the bed to lie beside her. She turned to face him, taking care to keep from straining her shoulder.

Alistair winced slightly when her robe shifted to reveal the bruise. "You should have Wynne look at that."

"It's healing," she replied. "And it looks worse than it feels. Mostly."

His fingers brushed against her cheek. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

He pressed a light kiss to her lips. Despite its innocence, the touch of his lips still managed to spark her desire, but her exhaustion wouldn't allow her to take it any further. However, she was more than content to lie in his arms and fall back asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N:__ An update, at long last! I've been dealing with some serious writer's block as a result of soul-sucking retail work, but then I received a pleading review from **Bluumberry** asking for an update. So, of course, I had to oblige. _

_I'm a bit unsteady about working out the rest of this fanfic, so please let me know via review if you like how it's turning out or if you have any suggestions._

_Enjoy!_

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_**Chapter Ten**_

"_You want me to…_what_?"_

_Alistair stared at her as if she had grown another head._

_Gráinne steeled herself as she repeated, "I need you to sleep with Morrigan. Tonight, as part of an ancient ritual."_

_He strode over to her and gazed directly into her eyes, only inches away from her face. "Is this some twisted joke? Your idea of getting back at me for ending our relationship? Or have you indeed lost your mind?"_

_She didn't flinch, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of that last question. "Do you want to defeat the archdemon or not?" she said in a low voice. "Make a decision." She turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her._

_Anger had been her only weapon to face him. As it faded away, she was so tired, as if her life force had been completely drained from her. _Maker, let it end tomorrow_, she prayed, wondering if He even bothered to listen._

_

* * *

_

It was dark when Gráinne woke again, though she had no idea what time it was. A fire burned in the hearth, giving the room a low light. Alistair was no longer beside her in the bed but stood before the fireplace, arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

She stood from the bed and fastened the tie of her bathrobe before stepping over to him.

"I don't want this," he whispered. "I never wanted to be king."

"I know," Gráinne said softly.

"But it is just to beat Loghain, right?" he continued, his tone hopeful. "If we succeed, then I can give up my claim to Eamon or someone else who's more fit to rule. After all, my first duty is to the Grey Wardens."

As much as she admired his optimism, that wasn't how things were meant to work. "Alistair—" she began, but he interrupted, his eyes meeting hers.

"I don't want to lose you," he said fiercely. "I love you more than anything, and I refuse to accept this if it means I can't be with you."

"You may not have a choice."

"There's always a choice. Everyone knows I'm not fit to rule Ferelden. I'm just the son of a star-struck maid and an indiscreet man who just happened to be king. Andraste's flaming sword, some days I have trouble figuring out which boot goes on which foot!"

He was afraid. She could see the fear in his eyes and hear it in his voice. She had felt the same way after the battle of Ostagar, when the responsibility to become leader fell on her shoulders. But while she was prepared to lead, Alistair only knew how to follow. His life had not prepared him for the responsibility of becoming king because no one had expected him to rule in the first place.

Gráinne took his hand and pulled him into an embrace. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

Alistair held her tightly and buried his face in her hair, as if afraid to let her go. She wasn't sure of anything more she could say to comfort him, so she simply held him. After a few moments, he pulled away and kissed her, his mouth desperate and fierce. She opened invitingly to it, allowing his tongue to slip in and attack the inside of her mouth without mercy. It wasn't long before she was tugging at the ties of her robe as Alistair slid it from her shoulders, running his hands along her bare skin. She shivered, not from cold but from need.

They tumbled into the bed ungracefully as Alistair struggled to remove his clothing. Gráinne took advantage as he fought to unfasten his pants and began to kiss and bite along the nape of his neck. He groaned as she swirled her tongue along his skin.

"That's…really distracting, you know," he panted.

"Then let me help you." She undid the remaining ties and reached her hand down to stroke his length. He moaned, his hands clenching and unclenching the bed sheets, the feel of her hand driving him mad. He grabbed her wrist and pinned her to the bed.

"Two can play that game," he growled. A small cry escaped her lips as his fingers gently caressed the tender flesh between her legs. He lowered his lips to her throat, leaving a trail of hot kisses down between her breasts, lightly nipping at her skin. His fingers kept moving, producing a number of indecipherable sounds from Gráinne's throat. She was beginning to near climax when he stopped and drove himself inside her, hitching her legs around his waist. He kept her pinned to the bed as his mouth ravished her lips, neck, and chest, all the while thrusting himself in as deep as possible in order to feed the primal urge that had taken over him.

She was over the edge before she even realized it, lost in blissful nothingness. She bit her lip to keep back her screams, releasing the pressure by digging her nails down Alistair's back. He collapsed beside her, breathing heavily from the exertion. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he reached for her. Instead, she crawled on top of him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Don't think I'm done with you yet."

* * *

Castle Redcliffe bustled with activity the next day as Arl Eamon continued to make preparations for the journey to Denerim. Servants hurried throughout the castle, gathering weapons and provisions for the Arl and his guards. Thankfully, Gráinne and the others weren't required for any task that morning, allowing them a brief but welcome respite. After a bath and warm breakfast, Gráinne wandered aimlessly through the corridors, relaxed for the first time in weeks. She smiled to herself, recalling the night before with Alistair. There were parts of her that were blissfully tender from the three—four?—times they'd made love. If she had nothing else after Denerim, after fighting the archdemon, she would at least have that night.

She found herself in the Arl's library and breathed in deeply the rich smell of leather and ink. Shelves filled to the brim lined the walls, a collection that rivaled the one her father owned. She idly ran her fingers along the aging leather books, scanning the titles written in gold lettering on their spines. Many of the titles she recognized, though she'd never been allowed to read them. There had been many nights when she would sneak into the library and hide in one of the pantries, reading by candlelight for hours—

"Good morning, Warden."

Gráinne turned to discern the voice that had interrupted her thoughts. "Good morning, Bann Teagan."

Teagan approached her, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "I trust your stay here has been comfortable?"

"Yes, very. It's been a long time since we were afforded any rest, even if it is only for a short time."

"Well, we all owe you a debt of eternal thanks for saving the Arl and his family. And for what you're about to face with Loghain and the archdemon."

She noticed he studied her face carefully, as if trying to determine something.

"Was there something you wished to speak to me about, ser?" she asked.

Teagan glanced around the library, as if to make sure they were alone. "May I speak with you in private?"

Gráinne nodded, both curious and apprehensive. They retreated to a small reading room connected to the library, where they would not be easily seen or overheard.

"Forgive my rudeness," he began, looking directly at her, "but I do not believe you have been entirely honest as to who you are."

Gráinne raised an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

His eyes continued to scan her face. "I don't believe you ever mentioned your surname, Warden."

"I didn't know it was such a great concern," she replied more sharply than she intended. She leveled her voice before she spoke. "But, if you must know, it's Amell. Gráinne Amell."

"Perhaps that's the name you use now, but it wasn't the one you were born to."

Her jaw tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Teagan asserted in a low voice. "When the servants were attending to your things, this fell out of your pack." He held out his hand to reveal a gold necklace with a small charm. "It's a raven, the symbol of South Reach. I didn't make the connection at first, until I realized you bore a remarkable resemblance to Arlessa Mairenn . Your eyes, especially."

Gráinne closed her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. _Damn him_.

"Are you not Igraine Bryland?"

It was a name she had not heard in over ten years. When she was brought to the Circle, she was given a new surname to sever the tie to her noble heritage and adopted the Orlesian spelling of her birth name. Over time, her past had become a distant memory, her former name almost nonexistent.

She opened her eyes and met Teagan's gaze. "That's not who I am anymore."

"Perhaps not," he replied, "but I am well acquainted with Leonas Bryland. As of right now, he supports Loghain, but his loyalties will change easily so long as he benefits from the outcome. He will recognize you at the Landsmeet and will not hesitate to use your position to his advantage."

Anger rose in her chest. "Are you suggesting I would allow him to jeopardize our fight against Loghain?" she demanded.

"No," Teagan said gently. "But that doesn't mean he wouldn't try to manipulate you—and succeed." He gave her a look of compassion. "It is no secret what he did to you. But after all these years, he is still your father, and that can produce a number of conflicted emotions. I only mean to offer a word of caution when we arrive in Denerim." He motioned to return the necklace to her.

She glared at it, no longer caring for its significance. "Keep it." She turned to walk away.

"Warden—"

Gráinne stopped.

"Does Alistair know?"

She struggled to keep her voice level. "And why would that matter?"

"Because he loves you. And because he deserves to know."

She kept walking, blinking back the tears in her eyes, until she reached an empty corridor. She leaned against the wall, clenching her hands. _It doesn't matter anymore_, she repeated to herself, over and over again. She wouldn't betray them, not after everything she and her friends had done to fight Loghain and protect Ferelden. The past was gone, long forgotten, and should remain there. She didn't need to tell Alistair.

On the other hand, he had been honest with her about being the son of King Maric. She shook her head; that was different. It was simply who he was. Her past was far uglier than simply being a bastard child.

"You look stressed, my dear."

In the midst of arguing with herself, Gráinne had failed to notice Zevran had joined her in the hallway, his brown eyes studying her intently.

She straightened up. "It's nothing, Zev."

"My fantastic intuitive sense of the female creature tells me otherwise."

She struggled to form the words. "I—it's just—I don't know…"

"Does it have something to do with the fact that you are secretly the estranged daughter of a noble who might ruin our chances of beating Loghain, something which you have not mentioned to your handsome Templar in shining armor?" Before she could open her mouth to tell him off, he held up his hand and explained, "I honestly did not mean to eavesdrop. Trust me, your secret is safe with me."

Gráinne sighed. "Well, since you already know, what do you think I should do?"

The assassin laughed. "You're asking me? I'm not exactly the upstanding model on relationships."

"I'm asking as a friend," she said quietly.

Zevran sobered at the serious tone in her voice. "Whatever the skeletons you may have lurking in your past, Alistair would be a fool for not accepting you as you are. But it is your choice to tell him, and your right if you decide not to. As for me, my dear Warden, by your side I would willingly storm the gates of the Dark City itself, no matter what. Never doubt it."

She smiled. "Thank you, Zev. That means a great deal to me."

* * *

It wasn't an easy decision to simply tell Alistair she was the daughter of Arl Leonas Bryland. After all these years, she no longer even acknowledged the fact herself, given what he subjected her to when he discovered she was a mage at the age of seven. For nearly three years she endured his punishments as she struggled to hide the magic that burned in her veins, just so she could please her father. It was a terrible time that she had yet to come to terms with, let alone share with anyone else—even the man she loved.

But Teagan was right; she would have to tell Alistair at some point. Her father was enough of a bastard to try and use her for his own ends. And as Morrigan once insightfully pointed out to Alistair, the truth does not "go away," as much as she desperately wished it would.

After taking some time to sort out her thoughts, Gráinne looked for Alistair and found him in the courtyard with Deimos, basking in the warm sunlight on a bench.

"Do you really know what's going on here, I wonder?" he asked the Mabari thoughtfully. "The Blight, the civil war…I really wonder how much of it you understand."

Deimos responded with a cock of his head, wagging his tail.

"We're all special," Alistair continued, oblivious to the fact that Gráinne only stood a few feet behind him. "Big parts to play. Even you. Especially you, in some ways. You are the Mabari. You guard one of the most important people—"

Deimos barked excitedly at Gráinne.

"What?"

The Mabari barked again, then began running and pouncing around in the grass before sprinting excitedly over to Gráinne.

"He wants to play," she informed Alistair.

"You…you want to play? But I'm talking." He threw his hands in the air as Deimos ran off again. "Why doesn't anyone want to hear me talk?"

Gráinne sat next to him on the bench, placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

"See, you're doing it too," he said jokingly when their lips parted. He noticed the shadows in her pale green eyes and lovingly brushed the side of her face with his fingers. "What's wrong?"

She smiled. "Nothing. Just a bit anxious, that's all."

"We'll be all right," he reassured. "We'll kick Loghain's sorry traitorous ass, defeat the archdemon, then ride off into the sunset as the heroes of Ferelden."

_If only_. Still, Gráinne smiled again and picked up the broken tree limb that Deimos had dropped at her feet. "That sounds like a good plan to me."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Ooo, lookie! Finally a new chapter. _

_Dark chapter is dark. You have been warned. And a bit shorter than I would have liked, but considering the content...best not to drag it out._

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_**Chapter Eleven**_

As Erlina, Queen Anora's handmaiden, left the room, Gráinne turned to Arl Eamon. "Are you sure we can trust Anora?" she asked him quietly. Erlina's tale was convincing enough, but Gráinne was not about to fall into one of Loghain's traps, not when they were so close to defeating him.

"Even if it is a trap, it is a risk we cannot afford to take," Eamon replied. "If Anora speaks out against Loghain, hers would indeed be one of the most powerful voices at the Landsmeet."

Despite her reservations, Gráinne nodded in agreement. The Wardens were already painted as traitors and, as Eamon had pointed out, he would be seen as an opportunist. If the Queen herself stood by them, then people would cease to believe Loghain's lies. "We must act quickly then. I'm sure by now Arl Howe knows of our arrival, and if he has plans to harm Anora, he won't waste any more time."

"Right, off we go again," Alistair said.

Eamon turned to Alistair. "You cannot go, Alistair."

Alistair stared at the Arl. "What?"

"Loghain knows of our intentions to place you on the throne," Eamon explained. "I would not put it past him to try and have you killed."

Alistair's gaze turned to Gráinne expectantly. She shook her head. "I'm afraid the Arl is right, Alistair," she said. "Going to rescue the Queen is risky enough as it is. We can't lose both of you."

"But—" He looked helplessly at Gráinne before recognizing by the look on her face that the decision was final. He nodded in compliance.

"Good luck, Warden," the Arl said.

Gráinne gave a bow and took her leave, grabbing the attention of the nearest servant as she made her way down the hall. "Please find two of my companions, Zevran and Leliana," she informed the servant. "Tell them I need to meet them in my room at once."

* * *

"It is necessary, Alistair," Eamon insisted.

"With all due respect, my lord, it isn't," Alistair retorted. "I've accepted the fact that I have to be king. I don't want to be—I never wanted it—but I'm doing it anyway for the good of Ferelden. But I will _not_ do this." As he began to leave, Eamon grabbed his arm and pulled Alistair back to face him.

"Being king requires more responsibility than you realize, Alistair," he stated harshly. "Cailan did not leave an heir to rule in his place—a mistake you cannot make." As he spoke, he held Alistair's gaze. "Mages cannot inherit titles or estates, much less marry. There is a reason they are kept under the governance of the Chantry, and you know exactly why."

Alistair gritted his teeth. "She's not like that."

"It doesn't matter. The potential is there, no matter how young, old, or well-trained the mage may be. Look what—" Eamon hesitated as grief shadowed his face. "Look what happened with Connor."

"I still won't do it." Alistair pulled his arm from Eamon's grasp and strode out of the room. All his life he'd done whatever Eamon asked, all in order to please him. But not this time. The thought of losing Gráinne scared him far more than any threat Eamon could make.

He managed to get to her just as she came out of her room, fastening her cloak around her neck. At once he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

"Please be careful," he said. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Gráinne kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll be fine." She smiled coyly. "And I expect you to wait up for me."

* * *

There was cold stone beneath her, and the world around her was dark and silent. She couldn't feel anything; her body was completely numb. Was she dead? As she opened her eyes and slowly raised her head, a fierce throbbing in her temples told her otherwise. She was still alive, though she barely felt it. With a groan, she struggled to sit up, scraping her palms against the stone, and glanced around.

A prison cell. The iron bars glistened in the dim torchlight. In the distance, she heard the echoes of screams.

Desperately, Gráinne tried to remember what happened. She, Zevran, and Leliana had managed to sneak into Arl Howe's estate. They'd found Queen Anora and attempted to smuggle her out, dressed as a soldier, but were stopped by Loghain's knights. She remembered telling Zevran to get Anora out, no matter what. Then she'd fought…

Templars. That was how they had taken her.

At that moment, she realized something was very wrong. It hadn't been noticeable at first, what with being half-frozen, but as she began to gradually warm up, it occurred to her.

Her magic was gone.

She tried to summon fire, water, lightning, but every attempt only failed and left her weaker. Something was blocking her magic. She managed to climb to her feet, using the cell bars to brace herself, and found the source. At several points around the room were some plaques of stone with runes engraved into the surface; they were magic wards, used by Templars to dispel all presence of magic and render any mage helpless.

They worked. For the first time in years, Gráinne felt helpless.

The loud creaking of an opening door sounded down the corridor, followed by footsteps. Three guards, followed by another man dressed in Templar armor, appeared before Gráinne's cell.

"This is the Warden bitch who killed Arl Howe," one of the guards gruffly informed the Templar.

The Templar stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Gráinne. In the dim torchlight Gráinne thought she recognized him, but could not quite remember.

"You are charged with treason, murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder against the Regent, Teryn Loghain Mac Tir," he announced. "If you admit your guilt to these charges and name your cohorts, your punishment will be merciful. If you refuse, you will be tortured until you provide the information we require, then hanged, drawn and quartered according to the law."

Gráinne stared defiantly back at the Templar and remained silent. After a moment, the Templar turned and nodded to the guards, who then proceeded to open the cell door. Two guards roughly grabbed Gráinne's arms and held them behind her, while another bound her hands with iron shackles. She was then led from her cell through several corridors and down a long stairwell. As they descended, the air grew warmer and the screams louder.

They brought her to a small enclosed chamber, sweltering from the heat of the fire. At the center of the room was a large wooden device, the height of a table and long enough to fit a man. A crank was on one end and at both ends were large cylinders, each fitted with ropes.

The presence of the Templar still made Gráinne unable to use her magic. She began to struggle against the two guards that held her. The Templar noticed and struck her across the face with his gloved hand. Her mouth filled with blood.

"Be still," he warned. "You were given your chance to freely confess."

As they forced her down and bound her hands and feet to the rack, she spat a mouthful of blood into the Templar's face. He delicately wiped the spittle away with a handkerchief.

"You'll regret that, Warden."

* * *

It was past nightfall when news came that Queen Anora had been successfully rescued. Alistair followed Arl Eamon and met them in the main hall. Anora was unharmed, dressed in a soldier's armor. Zevran and Leliana were both bruised and bloody; Leliana, who could barely stand from a wounded leg, was supported by an unfamiliar man with dark hair. Gráinne was not with them.

"Thank the Maker you are safe, your Majesty," Eamon said to the Queen.

"Thanks to the Maker and these brave souls," she replied.

"Where is she?" Alistair asked Zevran and Leliana, his voice hoarse.

Neither could meet Alistair's gaze.

"_Where is she?_" he yelled.

"Your fellow Warden has been captured by Loghain's men," the man with dark hair answered.

"We were ambushed just as we were escaping," Leliana continued. "We tried to fight our way out, but we were overwhelmed. Gráinne—she stayed behind and told us to get the Queen to safety."

"They must have taken her to Fort Drakon," Eamon said. "Howe turned the fortress into a dungeon for prisoners."

All the blood had drained from Alistair's face and it took all his strength to remain standing. "We have to get her out."

"It would be impossible to sneak into Fort Drakon," Eamon replied. "To even attempt it is a death sentence."

"We can't just leave her!"

"With all due respect, he is right," the man spoke. "We cannot leave her." He bowed his head to Arl Eamon. "I am Riordan, a Senior Grey Warden from Orlais. The Warden Gráinne rescued me from Arl Howe's dungeon, where I had been imprisoned and tortured. Not only do I owe it to her for saving my life, but if we are soon to battle the archdemon, we will need every Grey Warden possible. It will be months before any of the Orlesian Wardens can arrive here and by then it may be too late."

Arl Eamon nodded in assent. "Let us plan the rescue."

* * *

_The Fade. She walked through the eerily silent dream realm, free from the excruciating pain her body suffered. _

_Her surroundings were a twisted echo of her childhood home. The estate was a barren wasteland; the house and fields burned. As she approached the entrance, she discovered the remains of two charred bodies._

"_I can do what you never had the strength to do," a voice spoke. Its words were enticing, repeating themselves over and over, as if trying to persuade her that she wanted nothing else in the world… _

She was jolted back from the Fade, sputtering and gagging on the bitter liquid being poured down her throat. The reviving potion awakened her once more to the fierce agony that radiated throughout her limbs.

"Enough for now," the Templar ordered. "Bring her back to her cell and give her a health poultice. Perhaps then she'll be more inclined to talk."

The guards untied her wrists and ankles, now bruised and torn from the pull of the ropes, then lifted her from the rack. She desperately bit back cries of pain as they lifted her and carried her back to the cell. They dropped her carelessly to the stone floor and poured the health poultice into her mouth. The liquid was weak and putrid, barely lessening the pain as it slowly mended the torn ligaments in her arms and legs.

Gráinne blearily watched as the guards left, slamming the cell door behind them. Her vision faded as she slipped into darkness, her last conscious thought being her wish to die.

"_You don't want to die," a voice whispered back seductively. "If you die, how will you defeat the archdemon and the Blight? If you die, what will happen to your friends, to Alistair?"_

_She watched as fires enveloped the city of Denerim. Darkspawn destroyed everything, spreading across Ferelden like a plague. She watched in horror as her friends fought the overwhelming horde, but one by one were slain. Alistair was the last to survive before the archdemon brutally took his life, wrenching his body into pieces with its twisted claws. Gráinne wept, unable to turn away._

"_Live," the voice told her. "Live, and they will be spared. Live, and I will help you…"_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Another dark chapter, I'm afraid. Actually, just to forewarn all my lovely readers, there won't be any more happy chapters left to this fanfic (three, maybe four? still working on the details). Thank you all for the favorites and reviews; I really appreciate it. Please feel free to continue reviewing, as I welcome any and all comments._

_Credit goes to the amazing series, **The Tudors**, as well as to **Writing Tip Page** for help in writing the torture scenes. Because let's face it...torture is not a pretty thing to write._

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_**Chapter Twelve**_

Hours, perhaps even days passed. Gráinne easily lost track of time as she waited in the cold darkness of her cell. Her limbs still throbbed with dull pain, but at least she was still able to move. Every now and again she would stand and slowly pace in her cell, attempting to keep herself warm with little success.

The Templar wanted information. He wanted her confession and the names of her friends. But to admit any of it would grant Loghain the legal grounds to arrest Eamon and the others, destroying their chances of ending the civil war. No matter the cost, she couldn't reveal anything to the Templar.

She had to escape. Her magic was useless here with the wards in place, so she would have to figure out some other way.

Once more, footsteps sounded down the corridor as the Templar and his guards approached her cell.

"Well, Warden?" the Templar queried. "Have you changed your mind?"

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The Templar smirked. "Still as insolent as ever, I see. I'm surprised you don't remember me, Igraine, though it was some time ago."

She stared at him, now recognizing his face and the coldness of his eyes. "Ser Martin."

He nodded. "You remember now."

"I remember being tortured as a child by a bigoted zealot, if that's what you mean."

"You were possessed by a demon—an abomination. I did what was necessary."

"My father only told you I was possessed because I could no longer hide my magic like he wanted," she retorted. "He refused to admit that his only child was a mage, like I was some sort of unspeakable disgrace." She turned away. "If you think I'll admit anything to you, you are sorely mistaken."

"So be it."

* * *

Her screams were terrible and unearthly, even to her own ears. Tears streamed down the sides of her face as she wept, the searing pain in her arms and legs growing worse with each passing second. She'd never endured anything like this before; it was more than she could bear.

"Stop, please," she begged, choking on the bile in the back of her throat.

Ser Martin's face loomed over her. "Do you admit to the murder of Arl Rendon Howe and the conspiracy against Teryn Loghain?"

Gráinne gasped for breath as she spoke. "Loghain and Howe are the ones who betrayed Ferelden. Not the Wardens."

Martin sighed and shook his head, then signaled the guards, who began to turn the crank again. The ropes creaked against the wooden cylinders as they stretched her body further. Her cries and whimpers grew louder as the pain worsened; she could feel the sharp burning of her muscles tearing in her arms and legs. Sweat stung her eyes and she squeezed them shut, unable to withstand the sight of what was happening. Behind her eyelids were white rings of light from clenching so tightly.

The creaking of the wood resonated in her ears. The ropes tightened around her wrists and ankles, ripping further into her flesh, blood trickling from the wounds. She struggled to breathe, but the air was sweltering from the fire, scarcely filling her lungs. Her limbs were stretched so taut she feared her body would be ripped apart.

Suddenly, a loud _snap_ echoed through the chamber. Gráinne released an earsplitting scream as the excruciating pain in her shoulder nearly blinded her.

* * *

_The charred bodies belonged to her father and mother. Just ahead, the body of Ser Martin hung from the turrets of the castle by his wrists. He was stripped to his smallclothes, his body bruised and cut. As Gráinne stepped towards him, he stirred, barely alive._

_The voice gained strength in the darkness, growing bolder. It called to her._

"_You possess greater power than you realize," it spoke. "I can help you wield that power. You can break free of this prison and destroy those who seek to punish you for what you are." The voice drew closer. "You would be free to live as you choose…free to love Alistair."_

"_I don't strike bargains with demons," Gráinne replied coolly._

"_Think of it," the voice whispered seductively. Familiar hands encircled her waist and when it spoke again, the voice belonged to Alistair. "I hear Orlais is beautiful this time of year," he breathed, placing a teasing kiss behind her ear and gradually making his way down the nape of her neck with his lips. "We could go to Val Royeaux for Satinalia—just the two of us. No darkspawn, no Blight, no being king."_

_Her body warmed at his touch as his hands slid down her hips. She struggled to remain focused; it was an illiusion, a trick. She couldn't give in, even though it was everything she'd ever wanted…_

* * *

"Gráinne."

She didn't stir. Her breathing was uneven and raspy through cracked, bloody lips. Her wrists and ankles were raw from rope restraints and her shoulder was bent at an odd angle, removed from the socket. A hot, fierce anger welled up inside Alistair. He would kill whoever did this to her.

"Alistair, I need you to destroy the wards," Wynne said. "I won't be able to heal her."

He took a deep breath to steady himself. He'd sensed the magic wards as soon as they'd entered this area of the dungeon. He knocked them down from the walls and directed his anger into smashing them to pieces.

Wynne had already begun her healing magic when Alistair returned to the cell. Her eyes were closed and her brow furrowed in concentration. He knelt by Gráinne and gently laid his hand on her cheek. After a moment, her eyes fluttered open.

"Alistair," she murmured.

"Thank the Maker." He kissed her forehead.

Wynne stopped, her breathing heavy. Beads of sweat dripped down her face. "Her injuries are extensive," she told Alistair in a low voice. "We must set her shoulder back into place before I can continue."

Alistair nodded and carefully, the two of them rotated Gráinne's arm until her shoulder popped back into place. She gave a weak cry of pain.

"It's all right," he reassured.

Her eyelids flickered shut once more as she lost consciousness. Her body began to tense and tremble. Wynne withdrew her magic and studied Gráinne intensely.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, his voice cracking in fear. "What's wrong?"

The older mage stepped back. "Move away from her, Alistair."

"What?"

"Move away," she commanded.

Alistair obeyed, his eyes never leaving Gráinne. She continued to tremble, her head rolling from side to side. Her fists clenched and unclenched, clawing at the stone floor, and her back arched as she gasped for breath. After a moment, she grew still and her eyes opened again.

"Do not touch her," Wynne warned.

He was about to question why when Gráinne slowly turned her head to look at them. The eyes that met his no longer belonged to Gráinne.

"Alistair," she called to him warmly. "I've been waiting for you." She sat up, heedless of the injuries that still remained unhealed.

No, it wasn't possible. Gráinne couldn't be gone…

The demon firmly held his gaze, smiled sweetly, and held out its hand. "Will you help me stand, my love?"

Alistair found that his hands were shaking as he reached for his sword. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and he could barely think straight, but one thing was certain: he refused to allow a demon to inhabit Gráinne's body.

Even if it meant killing the woman he loved.

The demon watched his hand grip the sword handle. "My love," it purred, "what's wrong? Do you not recognize me?" Instantly the darkness from its eyes was gone and it was Gráinne looking back at him once more, holding her hand out to him.

Alistair hesitated. Gráinne would still be in there, trapped within the Fade while the demon occupied her body. She could be saved, just as she had saved Connor. He withdrew his hand from his sword and took a step forward.

"Alistair, no!" Wynne hissed and grabbed his arm. He ignored her and tugged his arm from her grasp. He knelt before Gráinne, unable to break away from her hypnotic gaze. She placed a cold hand on his cheek and all other thoughts were lost. She was still there, alive. He could save her. All he could think about was saving her, being with her—the touch of her hands, her lips, her skin, every moment of passion they'd shared.

"Help me, my love," she breathed, tilting her head to kiss him.

"Gráinne," he whispered in return. Her lips were so close; he could feel her breath on his skin.

Wynne watched in horror at the scene unfolding before her, yet she could do nothing to stop it. The destruction of the wards had allowed Gráinne full use of her magic, which the demon now channeled. She was paralyzed, unable to stop the demon from seducing Alistair.

Just as the two were about to kiss, suddenly the demon jerked its head away. Both Alistair and Wynne watched in confusion as it grunted in pain, its brow furrowed.

"No," it moaned harshly, all trace of Gráinne's voice gone. "You—cannot—" It then shrieked and collapsed onto the floor, convulsing violently. The fit lasted for several moments before it gave one final shudder and was still.

Nausea overcame Alistair and he nearly vomited. The demon had taken hold of him and he had allowed it. He drew his sword and prepared to do the unthinkable. He would not allow the demon a second chance.

"Wait a moment, please." Wynne crouched down and briefly examined Gráinne. "The demon is no longer present in her body."

"That doesn't mean it still isn't there, waiting for us," he argued.

"The demon did not take full control of her," Wynne explained. "I've seen enough abominations in my lifetime to know the difference. The demon preyed on Gráinne in her weakened state, but it could not fully possess her. It seems she was able to defeat the demon on her own."

Dazed, Alistair stared at Gráinne's still form. The sight of the demon within her—looking at him with her eyes, touching him with her hands—had shaken him to his core. Eamon's words echoed in his mind: _There is a reason they are kept under the governance of the Chantry…The potential is there, no matter how young, old, or well-trained the mage may be._

Mages were dangerous.

* * *

Even with Wynne's expert spellwork, Gráinne was not completely healed. The damage to her body had been most severe, aggravated by the rancid healing potions Ser Martin had poured down her throat: her injuries would partially heal, only to be made new again.

It wasn't just the physical damage but the lingering agony that still haunted her mind. The first night back at the Arl's estate she could not sleep, even with the sleeping spells Wynne cast over her. The nightmares of reliving her torture were too powerful. Moreover, Gráinne feared to enter the Fade after her encounter with the demon. She had been able to defeat the demon, reclaiming her body and mind, but she was still very weak. There was little certainty she would be able to do so again.

The following morning, after yet another sleepless night, Gráinne climbed from her bed and with difficulty attempted to wash and dress herself. Just as she finished, a knock sounded at her door and Wynne entered the room, carrying a large, steaming mug and a plate of bread, honey, cheese, and sliced apple.

"You should not be out of bed, Warden," Wynne scolded, her lips pursed disapprovingly.

"I have no choice," Gráinne replied. "Enough time has been wasted already in confronting Loghain."

Wynne stepped in front of her, blocking the door. "Gráinne, please listen to me. You must allow yourself time to heal properly, otherwise you will leave yourself vulnerable to another demon attack."

"I know that," Gráinne said quietly. "But there are matters greater than myself that need to be dealt with." She brushed past Wynne and left the room for Arl Eamon's study.

As she approached, a servant stopped her. "I'm sorry, Warden, but I cannot let you see the Arl at this time. He is in a private meeting with Arl Bryland."

Gráinne's breathing hitched in her chest but she quickly composed herself. "Please inform the Arl when he is finished that I would like to speak with him."

"Yes, Warden."

She retreated down the corridor, her stomach twisted into a knot. A number of possibilities rose in her mind of why her father would be here—most of them sinister. It may have been ten years since she'd last seen him, but men like Leonas Bryland never changed.

Halfway back to her quarters she was forced to stop and catch her breath. Her body simply had not regained its strength and her exertions had renewed the burning ache in her limbs. She braced herself against the wall, biting her lip against the pain.

"I didn't realize you were out of bed yet," Alistair said quietly.

She gave him a small smile. "Wynne says I'm not supposed to be, but honestly, I'm fine."

It was a lie even Alistair didn't believe. He seemed to be looking everywhere else to avoid meeting her eyes. When she reached out to touch his arm, he flinched away, wounding her a thousand times more than Ser Martin ever could.

"Why won't you look at me?" she asked, hurt resonating in her voice.

He sighed heavily and finally met her gaze. The tender affection that once sparkled in his eyes had turned to fear and distrust. The knot in her stomach twisted even tighter.

"Every time I look at you," he began, his voice low and hoarse, "I'm afraid it won't be you looking back."

A lump formed in her throat. "The demon is gone, Alistair."

"But there are others. There always will be." He stepped toward her and gently took her hand. "I don't know what was worse—seeing you as an abomination or knowing that I would have to kill you." He pressed a kiss to her hand. "I love you, but I just…need some time to sort out what happened."

Gráinne could only nod in understanding. She needed him now more than anything, but not if he couldn't even bear to look at her. Without a word she pulled her hand away and moved past him to continue down the corridor.

"I'll help you to your room," he offered, a trace of the Alistair she knew and loved in his voice.

Despite the growing agony in her body, she shook her head. "No."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Omgwtfbbq! You mean, a chapter? Really and truly?_

_Sorry for the enormous delay, folks. Life just got really messy for a while and my creativity kind of got sucked into the Void. But I've moved past it and am now well on my way to finally finishing this fic (and I mean it this time! I'm already working on the next chapter). So stay tuned, and I hope everyone's enjoying DA2. _

_P.S. Speaking of DA2, there's **totally** a Hawke/Anders fic brewing in my brain. (Although I should probably work on that Cousland/Nathaniel fic first...) ...Yeeah, more on that later._

* * *

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

Gráinne stared at the piece of parchment, her hands trembling slightly. The letter bore no seal or signature, but she recognized the handwriting as clearly as her own, even after a decade. The question, of course, was why Leonas Bryland wanted to meet with his estranged daughter on the eve of the Landsmeet.

Bann Teagan's words echoed in her mind: _"As of right now, he supports Loghain, but his loyalties will change easily so long as he benefits from the outcome. He will recognize you at the Landsmeet and will not hesitate to use your position to his advantage."_ Given the timing of this proposed meeting, Gráinne was certain that Teagan had been right and her father would now try to use her position to his advantage.

And if that failed, would Bryland attempt to remove her from the picture altogether?

Either way, she would not venture into this meeting alone. There was only one person she could trust. She found him in the dining room, flirting with a scullery maid. When the maid saw Gráinne approach, she quickly bowed her head and excused herself back to the kitchen.

"Zev, I need your help."

"If it involves chocolate sauce and rope, I'm game."

Gráinne rolled her eyes and handed him the letter. As he began to read, she noted, "It's from my father."

Zevran's brow furrowed. "How can you be sure?"

"I recognize his handwriting," she said. "Not only that, but he met with Arl Eamon here a few days ago. He must have figured out who I am."

"And you do not trust his intentions, so you would like someone to accompany you to the meeting."

Gráinne nodded.

"Well, it's not an invitation to the wild night of sex I was hoping for," he replied with a wink, "but the night is still young."

* * *

At the appointed time, Gráinne made her way to the back rooms at The Gnawed Noble, Zevran following closely behind. As she approached the meeting room, a guard stopped her.

"I'm expected," she informed the guard, showing him the letter.

The guard opened the door and allowed her to enter, but held out his arm to stop Zevran.

"He stays with me," Gráinne demanded, "or this meeting is over before it's even begun."

"Allow them in, Emery," a voice ordered from within the room. The guard lowered his arm and allowed them both into the room. Leonas Bryland sat waiting for them, a book in hand and a goblet of wine on the table beside him. He set down his book and rose from his seat to face her.

Not a word was spoken for several moments while father and daughter stared at one another. Ten years had brought grey hair and lines to his face, but his eyes were still as dark and cold as the Void.

"Igraine," Bryland calmly greeted.

"Gráinne," she corrected.

"Of course," he acquiesced. He gestured for her to sit while resuming his own seat. "While I understand your concern for this meeting, I assure you my intentions are peaceful. I would prefer if your assassin friend remained outside during this conversation."

Despite her apprehension, Gráinne suspected nothing amiss in the room and nodded to Zevran. He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze and softly told her, "I will be right outside if you need me."

Once the door was shut, Gráinne took her intended seat opposite Bryland.

"Wine?" he offered.

"No."

He refilled his own goblet. "You've certainly come a long way in the past ten years," he commented.

"You didn't send for me to have a family reunion," Gráinne interjected. "What do you want?"

Bryland's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Gráinne over the rim of his goblet. "You intend to challenge Loghain tomorrow at the Landsmeet," he began, "and based on the evidence you have compiled, I have no doubt you'll succeed in overthrowing him—after which a new sovereign will be selected to rule Ferelden in Cailan's place." He held Gráinne's gaze. "You know as well as I do that Alistair is not fit to rule this country."

"You underestimate him," she replied. "In fact, he is just what this country needs—someone who isn't corrupt and looking only for his own personal gain."

Bryland laughed. "And you think your Templar lover will prove to be such a ruler?" he scoffed. "Not with Eamon standing by to advise him." He took another sip of wine and smirked at her. "Did you think you would rule beside him?"

Gráinne gritted her teeth. "Of course not."

"Then what? Assuming you're alive and defeat the archdemon, what do you expect to happen to you afterwards?"

Gráinne stared at him, unable to answer. It wasn't a thought that often occurred to her, considering the danger she faced on a daily basis. Alistair had all but sworn to be king if it meant he couldn't be with her, but after Fort Drakon, she doubted he still felt the same.

Bryland leaned forward, his voice hushed. "Do you really think you're going to freely walk away from this? Your relationship grants you—a _mage_, I might add—incredible influence over the future king of Ferelden, whether you intend it or not. And that, my dear girl, is something Eamon or any other nobleman cannot risk. As soon as the opportune moment presents itself, you'll be sent off and locked away in the Circle Tower. Perhaps even made Tranquil."

He'd struck a nerve. The threat of being made Tranquil was always a real possibility to any mage.

Gráinne swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "What are you suggesting?"

"Anora is more than capable of ruling as Queen," he said, "even more so with her father as an advisor."

Gráinne could not believe what she was hearing. "Loghain committed treason against the King. What makes you think he'll be allowed to remain unpunished, let alone become an advisor if his daughter remains Queen?"

"You."

"I hold no such power."

"You survived Ostagar. You've made a treacherous journey across Ferelden to uncover ancient allies to fight the Blight. You've fought darkspawn and other monstrous creatures, saving countless lives—including Arl Eamon and his son. You've challenged Loghain, Ferelden's most powerful general and exposed the truth of our beloved King's death. The people will be listening tomorrow at the Landsmeet, and it will be your voice they will want to hear. If you say the word, they will easily look past Loghain's treachery and accept him once more as their great hero."

Gráinne rose from her seat. "This meeting is over."

As she turned to leave, Bryland spoke, "Think about it, Igraine. It's what's best for Ferelden."

* * *

She was exhausted and yet she couldn't sleep. The Landsmeet was only a few hours away and she still hadn't decided what she was going to do. She knew her father was right; Alistair knew nothing about ruling a country, while Anora had proven herself an intelligent and capable ruler following Cailan's death. Moreover, Loghain was a brilliant general, despite his crimes. If anyone could lead them to victory against the darkspawn, it would be him.

But at what cost? Loghain was guilty of treason and had tried to have her and Alistair killed more than once. As for Anora, Gráinne did not trust that glint of ambition in her eyes.

Gráinne shook her head and sighed. She needed air, to clear her mind of all these thoughts that plagued her. She put on her robe and ventured through the empty halls of the estate until she reached the courtyard. The air was strangely quiet. The sky was still dark, except for the small glimmer of light on the eastern horizon.

She wasn't alone out in the courtyard. On the nearby bench sat Alistair. He'd spent the better part of the night alone in the courtyard, unable to sleep. He turned when he heard the door open and watched Gráinne step out into the courtyard. In the dim torchlight he saw her, beautiful and strong—and yet so very alone. Among everyone else her face was always passive, betraying nothing of her emotions. Even when they had been together, the mask was still there. But now, when she thought she was alone, it was gone, and Alistair could see the true depth of her loneliness. At that moment, he hated himself.

He stood from the bench and began to walk towards her. The noise attracted Gráinne's attention; as soon as she saw Alistair, the mask returned, her gaze wary and uncertain. He didn't blame her. They looked wordlessly at each other for several moments before Alistair cautiously raised his hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. At first Gráinne made no reaction to the gesture, but then closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. He met with no resistance as he gently pulled her into his arms and held her close. It took a moment before he realized she was trembling, and not from the chill air. He said nothing but simply held her tighter and kissed her forehead while she silently wept against his chest.

* * *

Loghain fell to the ground, panting heavily and clutching his side. Blood trickled from the wound onto the stone floor. He glanced up at Gráinne, who stood above him with her sword pointed directly at his throat.

"Do you yield?"she demanded.

"I-I yield." Loghain cast aside his sword. "I underestimated you, Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war." He struggled to his feet. "I was wrong."

Gráinne kept her sword raised, her heart still pounding in her chest. "You deserve to die for what you've done."

"Wait." Riordan pushed his way through the crowd of nobles that surrounded them. "There is another option. "The teryn is a warrior and a general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."

"Absolutely not!" Alistair yelled in outrage. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?"

"There are _three_ Wardens in all of Ferelden, Alistair," Riordan urged. "And there are…compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."

"Besides," Anora stepped in, "the Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" She turned to Gráinne, her eyes pleading. "If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

All eyes turned to Gráinne expectantly. Loghain's life was in her hands. She gazed at the man who had betrayed the Grey Wardens and King Cailan, the man who had hunted her and made the lives of her and her friends a living nightmare, the man whose madness nearly destroyed Ferelden. Vengeance boiled in her veins and she clenched the handle of her sword. But would vengeance be worth it if the Blight swallowed them whole?

Alistair stepped towards her. "You can't really be considering this." His eyes burned with the same grief and anger she felt.

Gráinne shook her head and turned back to the crowd. "No. Loghain must be punished for his crimes."

It was then Anora's turn to cry out. "You can't do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."

"Yes, I can," Gráinne countered, her eyes piercing. "Ferelden law dictates that treason is a crime punishable by death, no matter who the person is."

Anora opened her mouth again to speak, but Loghain interrupted. "Hush, Anora. The Warden is right." He knelt before Gráinne. "Just make it quick. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

She made his death quick and painless. Blood spattered her robes and poured from his body into a pool on the floor. Nearby, Anora sank to the floor and wept.

Gráinne wiped away the blood from her sword, her mind strangely blank. She'd had enough of strife and bloodshed and the darkness of men. The Blight had already caused enough tragedy.

"So it is decided," Eamon's voice declared. "Alistair will take his father's throne."

This was the moment. If she chose, she could challenge Eamon's claim and make Anora ruler instead. She and Alistair could remain together and continue to mend the rift that had grown between them. Even in the crowd of nobles, Gráinne could feel her father's gaze, urging her to make the choice.

"Yes," she said quietly but clearly. "Alistair will be king."

She sheathed her sword and turned to walk away.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: This is the homestretch, loyal readers. Almost makes me want to go back and have another go at defeating the archdemon..._

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

"We…need to talk."

Gráinne stared out the window over the city. The people below went about their normal business, heedless of the darkness that threatened their existence.

She took a deep breath. "What about?" she asked Alistair calmly.

"I'm not going to question why you made me king. I understand why, and I'm even starting to come around on the idea. But…that raises questions about us. About you and me."

Gráinne turned to face him, struggling to keep her expression passive.

"We can't be together," he stated simply. His eyes were distant, his tone cool and calm. "As king, it's my duty to produce an heir, a responsibility that's already complicated by the fact that I'm a Grey Warden. There's no telling with the Taint if I can or even should produce a child. But if I do, it can't be with a mage."

She nodded and replied, "I understand…your Majesty."

* * *

She needed to leave. She couldn't bear to stay any longer in the palace.

"You have no idea what you've done."

Gráinne stopped and turned to face her father. "I did what was right."

"Don't try to fool me with that idealistic nonsense, girl," Bryland spat. "You destroyed Ferelden's only chance at victory against the Blight. Even if by some miracle of the Maker we do survive, I won't allow you to bring our country to further ruin."

Gráinne tensed and instinctively began to reach for her sword. "What are you talking about?"

Footsteps sounded from down the hall. Her heart began to pound as Ser Martin and two other Templars rounded the corner.

"I warned you that no nobleman will risk a mage having influence over the future king." He signaled to Ser Martin and turned to walk away.

Gráinne drew her sword, fury overwhelming her. Her hands began to glow and flicker with fire. "You will not touch me again," she growled. She rushed at the Templars and, before they could react, cast a repulsion spell that blasted them backwards, stunning even Ser Martin. It gave her just enough time to reach her father and slam him against the wall, her sword pressed to his throat. For the first time, she saw true fear in his face.

"You tortured me for years," she whispered hoarsely, trying to focus every bit of control she had remaining on not pressing her blade any further into his skin. "You treated me like I was some sort of monster."

"You…were," he gasped.

"I was a child!" she yelled, her eyes stinging with tears. "_Your _child, your own flesh and blood!"

She heard voices and running coming towards them. She tightened her grip on her sword and stared into her father's eyes. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"Gráinne!" Alistair's voice rang out. "By the Maker, what are you doing?"

Before she could respond, she was thrown to the ground by a blast of power. She was stunned, unable to move or speak.

"Don't go near her, your Majesty," she heard Ser Martin warn. "I'm afraid this mage is very ill."

"What are you talking about?" Alistair asked. "Why did she attack Arl Bryland?"

"I'm afraid she suffers from bouts of paranoia and delusions associated with the Fade," Ser Martin explained. "These mages are, for the most part, able to control their magic and protect themselves from demons, their connection to the Fade can cause other…complications."

"Complications?"

"Madness. The condition is usually chronic and those mages who suffer from it show early signs, resulting in being made Tranquil. On the rare occasion, a mage may not show signs for years, leaving the condition undetected."

"With all due respect, Ser," Wynne spoke, "I have never heard of such a condition."

"I am not surprised. It is quite rare, but very real, I assure you." Ser Martin turned back to Alistair. "Your Majesty, I would strongly suggest allowing the Templars to take custody of this mage. Her attack on Arl Bryland was a result of a delusion from her illness. There is no telling when she might experience another attack or who else she might harm as a result."

Ser Martin's lies made Gráinne sick to her stomach. The paralysis still held her, as much as she tried to fight it.

"I understand your concern, Ser Martin," Alistair began, his tone strangely authoritative, "and I certainly apologize to you, Arl Bryland, for this incident. However, Gráinne is a Grey Warden and we need her to battle the archdemon. She will be closely watched and afterwards, Maker willing, we'll all be alive to see to this matter further."

"But your Majesty—"

"Take her to her chambers, Ser Martin," Alistair commanded.

* * *

"If you have any sense in those thick skulls, you will let us see her."

"We have orders from Ser Martin that no one is allowed to see or speak with the mage."

"And we have permission from the king that we are allowed to see our friend."

After a moment, the door swung open and both Morrigan and Leliana entered Gráinne's room. They found their friend sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

"Dim-witted fools," Morrigan muttered as she shut the door behind her. She then rounded on Gráinne. "And will someone please explain to me what in the name of the Void is going on? What is this nonsense this Templar keeps spewing about an 'affliction' you supposedly suffer from?"

"It doesn't matter," Gráinne replied quietly.

Leliana sat next to her and clasped her hand. "Gráinne, please, we're your friends and we want to help. Tell us what is going on."

She glanced from Leliana to Morrigan. It was clear they would not leave until she gave them answers. So she gave them. She explained everything, from the fact that Arl Bryland was her father to his plan to have her taken to the Circle and made Tranquil so that she would not be able to influence the king. She explained how she had known Ser Martin for years, that he was the Templar who attempted to exorcise her as a child and the one who tortured her in Fort Drakon.

When she finished, Morrigan released a loud outburst in a language she didn't recognize. Leliana simply stared at her in shock.

"Surely Alistair will not allow this," Leliana said. "He is king now, after all."

"There is no longer anything between Alistair and me," Gráinne replied. "And as king, he has other things to worry about."

"But if you tell him the truth—"

"No," Gráinne stated sharply. "This is my business, no one else's."

"What exactly are you trying to prove?" Morrigan exclaimed.

Gráinne did not answer, but nonetheless Leliana could see it in her face. "She's not trying to prove anything," the bard said. "She's given up."

Morrigan swore again. "I did not come all this way with you just to watch you give up—to Templars, no less!"

"No one forced you to stay," Gráinne remarked hotly.

Leliana raised her hand, cutting Morrigan off before she could respond. "What Morrigan is trying to say, for all her yelling and expletives, is that we are all here because of you—because we support you and every decision that you have made that has brought us here. And if you think we're going to simply stand by and watch the Templars lock you away at the whim of some bitter old man, you are sorely mistaken."

Gráinne gave a wan smile. "I appreciate that," she said, "but you may not have a choice."

Leliana grinned wickedly, her eyes alight with a spark of her former self. "'The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand.'"

The door opened and a Templar entered the room. "The Grey Warden Riordan has asked to see you. I am here to accompany you to his chambers."

* * *

Alistair waited anxiously outside Riordan's rooms. The senior Warden had asked to speak with both of him, so he waited. After a few moments, Gráinne appeared, escorted by two Templars. He tried not to look at her as he thanked the Templars.

"We will wait out here to escort the mage back to her rooms," one of the Templars informed him.

Alistair nodded. "Do as you must."

They wordlessly entered Riordan's room, keeping their distance from one another. Alistair took a glimpse of Gráinne's face and found it blank of any expression.

"You are both here. Good." Riordan glanced nervously from Alistair to Gráinne. "I understand there have been some recent…complications, but I'm afraid I must add to the burden with a far more important matter." He sighed heavily. "Please know, I assumed you had already been told. Otherwise, I would have told you sooner. I am sorry."

"What is it?" Alistair asked. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?"

"I assume it has something to do with the Taint in us," Gráinne said quietly.

Riordan nodded. "That is exactly what it involves. The archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the Taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden…its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead."

"What happens to the Grey Warden?" Gráinne asked.

Riordan turned to her. "A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not," he told her solemnly. "The essence of the archdemon is destroyed…and so is the Grey Warden."

"Meaning," Alistair began, trying to process what Riordan was telling them, "the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon…dies?"

"Yes. Without the archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way."

* * *

"She's changed. I can see it in her eyes."

"It's for the best, Alistair."

Alistair sighed, taking no comfort in Eamon's words. "I just can't believe it," he said. "She never acted that way before. I don't understand why she would attack Arl Bryland like that." He began to pace the room. "Bryland supported us, didn't he? He wasn't a threat."

"Yes, he supported us," Eamon confirmed. "But you heard what Ser Martin said. Gráinne is ill. She suffered a delusion." He stood from his seat and patted Alistair on the back. "It's good you ended things when you did. You'll be better off for it."

"You're right," Alistair admitted. _Though soon enough, it may not even matter anymore_, he thought.

* * *

"You know, I don't usually kill for my own personal gratification," Zevran commented angrily as he and Leliana hurried away from their eavesdropping spot outside of Alistair's room, "but in this case, I'm willing to make an exception."

"You can't kill him for his ignorance, Zevran," Leliana replied. "He doesn't know."

"And tell me, why is that? Why does our fearless leader refuse to tell him the truth?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

Zevran pulled Leliana around the corner and out of sight from the main hall. "There is something she is not telling us," he asserted. "When has she ever simply given up?"

Leliana shook her head. "I don't think she expects to survive the battle with the archdemon."

"She does not expect to…or she does not hope to?"

* * *

Maker's balls, what was he doing?

"Wha—" Alistair took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "What exactly is the purpose of this ritual?"

"To defeat the archdemon," Morrigan replied coolly.

"What else?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Defeating the archdemon isn't enough?"

"Of course it is, but I know better than to trust that it's your only intention."

Morrigan met his gaze, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke, and for the first time since Alistair had met her, he heard emotion in her voice—not anger, not condescension, but sincerity. "Doing this will save her life," she said quietly, "and right now, 'tis the only thing that matters to me."

Alistair stared at her, unable to respond. At that moment, the full weight of Riordan's words weighed heavily upon him. The only way to kill the archdemon was for a Grey Warden to die. Suddenly he was faced with the very real possibility that Gráinne could die. For all that had happened and what she had become, he still cared for her.

"All right. Let's…just get this over with."

* * *

_P.S. Does anyone else find it hilarious how scared Alistair looks in this cutscene, or is it just me?_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: So, yeaaahh...it's been a year. I am a horrible person._

_I am very sorry for not updating this, everyone. The past year has really been godsawful and a lot has happened, none of it very good. But at long last, here we are, and I hope I can make it up to you all by posting not one, but ***two* **chapters! _

_Again, I'm very sorry, and thanks for sticking with me._

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

Alistair hurriedly put his clothes back on, keeping his back turned to Morrigan. He tried desperately not to let the full realization of what he'd just done sink in, but to no avail. The sick feeling in his stomach grew worse with each passing moment.

"Was it _really_ so bad, Alistair?" Morrigan taunted as she casually put her own clothing back on. "I thought you would find my illusion quite pleasing."

Alistair closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he fought against the new memory. Morrigan had tried several ways of arousing him, but he'd been too repulsed to respond. Finally, she had leaned close and whispered something inaudible in his ear. For a moment he had become lightheaded and his vision blurred; when he looked again the woman straddling him was no longer Morrigan, but Gráinne. She smiled and kissed him, her lips sweet and warm. Even though he knew it wasn't really her, he couldn't help himself. He no longer cared either, because the real Gráinne was gone.

"'Tis surprising, however," Morrigan mused, "that you reacted so ardently to it, yet so easily cast the real woman aside."

Alistair whirled around and snarled, "Shut up, Morrigan. You have no idea what you're talking about."

Her amber eyes met his unflinchingly. "I know that my friend is imprisoned under a false pretense, abandoned and betrayed." When he did not respond, her eyes narrowed. "Did you not think to question why Gráinne would attack Bryland? Or was it too easy to accept that the woman you love suddenly suffers from an illness that can only be cured by making her Tranquil?"

The apparent confusion on Alistair's face only enraged Morrigan further. "Then I shall spell it out for you, you stupid, gullible fool," she spat. "You have been manipulated by those around you—Bryland, Eamon, the Templars. They knew of your relationship with Gráinne and could not stand to have a mage in any position to influence the king. So they're getting rid of her the best way they know how, and your blissfully ignorant Templar mind was easily convinced to go along with it." She shook her head. "'Tis a wonder she didn't listen to her father. Better to have Anora ruling than you."

"Her father? What are you talking about?"

Morrigan picked up his shirt from the floor and threw it at him. "Bryland, you idiot. Or was her familial resemblance to the man not obvious enough?"

His mind reeled. Slowly, the pieces began to fit together. Maker help him, what had he done? Pulling his shirt over his head, he rushed from the room. He had to make this right, before it was too late.

But first, there was someone else he needed to see.

Arl Eamon was likely asleep, but at that moment, Alistair couldn't care less. He had trusted Eamon, admired him as a father. He didn't want to believe that the Arl had played a part in Gráinne's imprisonment, but doubt gnawed at him. Eamon had been so persistent that Alistair break ties with Gráinne, that she was dangerous, and so quick to reassure him that imprisonment was the best course of action.

Alistair burst into Eamon's study unannounced, struggling to control his anger. Despite the late hour, Eamon was awake and seated at his desk, reviewing some maps and papers.

"Did you have a part in it? Did you plan this all along?" he demanded.

Eamon regarded him warily. "A part in what? What are you talking about, Alistair?"

"You knew Arl Bryland is Gráinne's father and yet you said nothing. You let me think she was ill, that she suffered from delusions that made her dangerous, when the only way she was dangerous was to you and the control you want to have over me!"

Eamon's voice remained calm and even. "Alistair, you are young and have much to learn about ruling a kingdom," he began. "You're a bastard and you made your ascent to the throne at the conclusion of a civil war. Your position is precarious at best. How would it seem to your people if they knew their king had a mage lover instead of taking a respectable noblewoman for a wife?"

"Which people are we talking about?" Alistair snapped. "The people suffering and dying to protect their families, or the ones seated at their feast tables, squabbling over whose shit smells better?" He leaned over the desk until his face was only inches from Eamon's. "You knew I didn't want this, yet you forced me into it, just as you forced me into the Chantry. I trusted you and you manipulated me. But I swear to you now, _I will no longer be played_."

He turned to leave. "I'm releasing Gráinne. When this is over, I will deal with you, Bryland, and anyone else who had a part in this scheme."

* * *

Gráinne couldn't sleep, but that no longer seemed to be unusual for her. What was new, however, was the sick feeling that twisted in her stomach. She briefly stopped pacing the room to fight a fresh wave of nausea. Eventually it passed, leaving a sour taste in the back of her mouth. She reached for her cup of water but was stopped by the sound of muffled voices outside.

"Open the door."

The lock turned and the door opened, allowing Alistair to enter the room. She stared impassively at him, his disheveled hair and clothes reminding her of Morrigan's ritual. Once more she fought the urge to vomit.

"Leave us," Alistair commanded the guards, his eyes fixed on Gráinne. The guards glanced unsurely between the two of them, then silently obeyed, closing the door.

"Arl Bryland is your father."

It was more of a statement than a question, but judging by the look on Alistair's face he intended to confirm the fact with Gráinne. She considered her response for a moment before simply answering, "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What does it matter whose daughter I am?" Gráinne replied. "I was disowned and have no claim to nobility."

Alistair shook his head. "I don't care about that. I just want to know the truth about what happened."

She swallowed, struggling to keep her breathing even. "Bryland wanted me to choose Anora to rule instead of you. I didn't. After the Landsmeet, he confronted me and brought Templars to arrest me."

Alistair studied her face with such intensity that she had to turn away. "There's more to it than that," he said quietly. He could see dark pain within the depths of her eyes and realized he'd seen it once before: that night on the shores of Lake Calenhad, when Gráinne first told him about her past. "What did he do to you?"

She turned back to him; his gaze was pleading, his eyes warm with compassion and understanding. At any other moment, she would have welcomed the chance to confide in him, to purge herself of the dark secrets she carried. But no longer, not after everything that had happened.

"No," she told him emphatically. "That topic is not up for discussion."

Alistair reached out and gently took her by the arms. "Please, Gráinne, I need to understand."

Anger welled inside her, deep and burning. It was more than she could bear to hear; he was simply too late. She jerked away from his touch and roughly pushed him back.

"You need to understand?" Gráinne demanded. "Fine. As a child I was beaten and tortured by my father and the Templars to 'cure' me of magic. Would knowing every explicit detail help you _understand_ better?"

"I didn't—" Alistair began, but Gráinne quickly cut him off. Her anger had now overtaken her, and she could no longer control herself.

"Tell me, can you understand what it's like to be starved of food and water for days? To be deprived of sleep by being dunked in icy water so I wouldn't enter the Fade?" She was shouting now, every painful memory flashing through her mind. "No, of course you can't. You don't want to hear that! You don't want to hear about how they would cut me with knives all over my body, all the while reciting their precious Chant. You don't want to hear about how I was beaten senseless every time I accidently used magic. You don't want to hear about how I lived in constant fear of both my father and the demons that came to me every night. You don't want to hear that, so don't you _dare_ tell me you need to understand!"

Her stomach clenched so tightly she doubled over, blinded by pain. Images flared behind her eyelids of fire and blood. Darkness enveloped the land as thousands of darkspawn marched, destroying everything in their path. A bloodlust that was not her own filled her entire being, giving her a single command: _Kill them all_.

When the vision passed, Gráinne found herself on the floor, clutching Alistair as he knelt beside her. She looked up at him and found his face pale. She saw in his eyes that he had also seen it.

"The archdemon," he whispered.

Gráinne nodded. She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and rose to her feet, steadying herself against the wall. _It will all soon be over_, she told herself. "We must mobilize the army and prepare the city." Her gaze turned to Alistair, hard and resolute. "And I will need my sword and armor returned to me."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

At long last, the end had come.

They'd been fighting through the streets of Denerim for hours. The city was burning. The stench of blood and smoke poisoned the air. Gráinne and her companions had managed to defeat the two darkspawn generals, leaving Eamon's forces and their allies to secure the city. All that remained was the archdemon.

Before they proceeded to the roof of Fort Drakon, Gráinne and her companions paused to dress wounds and gulp down healing poultices. Despite the bloodstains that soiled their armor, everyone's injuries were mostly superficial.

Gráinne stared at the doorway that led to the rooftop. She could feel the archdemon's evil presence pulsing in her veins, as toxic and lethal as poison. It ripped into the depths of her soul and exposed what she had carried and hidden away for so long. All at once she felt every fear of failure, loss, and death that had crossed her mind ever since she began this journey. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to push it away, to bury her fear before it weakened her resolve. As she struggled, she felt a delicate hand touch her shoulder. Gráinne opened her eyes and met Morrigan's feral gaze. She reached up and laid her hand over Morrigan's, realizing then that she was trembling.

"Let us see this finally done," Morrigan said quietly, giving Gráinne a rare, reassuring smile.

Alistair watched as the two women embraced one last time. He knew the fear in Gráinne's eyes, for he felt it as well. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, to comfort her in these last moments before they faced death. But he couldn't. He didn't deserve to, not after he had betrayed and abandoned her. After he'd learned the truth, he'd wanted to beg her forgiveness, to try and right everything, but then the horde marched on Denerim and there had been no time.

And now they readied themselves to battle the archdemon. He prayed that, Maker willing, they would succeed, but he also knew they could all die. He realized he couldn't bear the thought of death without making things right.

"Gráinne," he said, stepping towards her.

Morrigan broke away and eyed Alistair scathingly before she left them alone. Their other companions also suddenly seemed too busy to notice their conversation. Although Alistair knew it was feigned and they were listening to every word, he at least appreciated the effort.

Gráinne held his gaze and waited. There were so many things he wanted to say but no time to say them. "I'm sorry," he finally said after a moment. He hated how trite the words sounded. "I was a fool, a complete idiot, and I'm sorry. I should have trusted you, just as you've always trusted me. Instead I abandoned you, I was wrong, and—" He cut himself short and tried to calm the tumult of emotion that threatened to spill over. He took a deep breath. "As unlikely as it is, can you forgive me?" he asked quietly.

Tears burned in Gráinne's eyes, but she held them back. She knew his words to be sincere and honest, just as he had always been. She remembered then how, so long ago—a lifetime, it seemed—he had held her hand on the shores of Lake Calenhad, kindly listening as she shared her worst fears with him. As they had walked back to camp, he had given her a rose.

_I…I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness._

She remembered their first kiss in the firelight, his warm touch, the feel of his body against hers when they made love. Those moments of happiness were now overshadowed by grief and heartache. As she searched for the answer to his question, she found only one.

"No."

Gráinne saw the hurt in his eyes, but he nodded wordlessly in acceptance. Before he could turn away, she reached up and touched his cheek. She felt him shudder as he choked back a sob.

"I can't forgive you now," she whispered, fighting her own tears, "but I will always love you." She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, knowing it might well be their last. When their lips parted, she lingered, cherishing the moment before she broke away and opened the doors to the rooftop.

* * *

The sight of the archdemon was more terrifying than any nightmare. Its bellow echoed through the air, a single note that caused many to cower in fear. Dozens of arrows stuck out from the dragon's thick hide, but the creature was unfazed. Its monstrous claws swung at everything in its path, catching soldiers and ripping the bodies to shreds. Gráinne and her companions quickly ducked into cover as the archdemon unleashed a scorching burst of blue flames.

As the flames died away, Gráinne stepped out of hiding place, sword in hand. The archdemon paused, sensing her presence, and turned to face its opponent. Its eyes, black and cold as the Void, bore into her very soul. Once more it roared, as if to issue a challenge.

Gráinne closed her eyes and took slow, even breaths. Her sword began to hum as she summoned the magic of the Arcane Warrior. The world grew quiet; there were no screams of dying men, no blistering heat of the fires. Her only focus was the archdemon that towered before her, her final foe.

The battle was long and fierce. The Circle Mages had established a perimeter around the dragon and launched a variety of ranged attacks to help weaken it. Gráinne used her magic sparingly, instead focusing her power into additional strength and speed. She and Alistair fought at close range, dodging around the creature as they attempted to slash at its vulnerable underbelly. It swung at them with claws and tail, only barely missing its targets. The creature then launched itself into the air, knocking them back with a gust of wind propelled from its wings.

At once they were swarmed by darkspawn. Gráinne sliced through four genlocks, then quickly searched for the archdemon. She spotted it perched on the ruins of one of the towers, unreachable. From its vantage point the dragon had begun hurling fireballs onto the battleground, killing soldiers by the dozens.

"We'll never be able to get past the archdemon while it has the higher ground," Alistair shouted over the din of fighting. "We've got to draw it away, back to our level."

"How do we do that?" Gráinne shouted back. "Spells can't reach that distance."

Alistair searched around them. "The fortress should be equipped with defenses—there!" He pointed. "The ballista."

A group of darkspawn followed as Gráinne raced towards the ballista. Alistair followed and took a defensive stance, ready to fight them off. Within moments, Morrigan was also at her side and quickly cast up a shield, just as a whirlwind of flames erupted around them.

Gráinne aimed and fired the ballista; the first three shots missed the archdemon entirely. The fourth went through one of the dragon's wings, causing a howl of pain and fury. She managed two more shots, both lodged directly into its side. The dragon attempted to take flight but failed, crashing onto the rooftop, once again within range of attack. It flailed about, damaging human and darkspawn forces alike.

"Now!" she yelled to Alistair. He nodded and hurried forward to slay the creature.

Yet the darkspawn sensed their weakened master and surged towards it, making a protective circle around the dragon. At once Alistair was overwhelmed, managing a few strikes before he was knocked to the ground by an alpha hurlock wielding a large maul. It quickly descended on Alistair, attacking with unnatural speed. He rolled away and managed to get to his feet, sword in hand but shield lost. A sharp, blinding pain in his side told him at least one rib was cracked. The hurlock came after him again and it took all his strength to parry its devastating blows.

Gráinne jumped down from the ballista to aid him, only to be met by another wave of darkspawn. Behind her, Morrigan transformed into a spider and together they fought, felling one beast after another. Her heart nearly stopped as she watched the hurlock's weapon hit Alistair squarely in the chest. He fell over, but this time did not get up. Before the hurlock could take another swing, Gráinne struck him down with lightning, giving her enough time to reach Alistair's side.

His eyes were unfocused, but he was still conscious. "Oh, this is going to hurt in the morning," he groaned.

"Here." She held his head as he drank her last health poultice. "It's not much, but it'll at least dull the pain."

"We've got to kill the archdemon. We're not going to last much longer."

He was right. The Circle Mages had been able to destroy over half the darkspawn that had encircled the dragon, but their numbers had greatly dwindled. Hardly any of Denerim's soldiers remained. Gráinne could no longer see Morrigan, in spider form or otherwise. Zevran remained standing, defending a group of half a dozen wounded soldiers.

"Can you stand?"

Alistair nodded and she helped him to his feet. "We'll flank it from both sides," she told him. "That should give one of us enough time to—"

"Look out!"

Gráinne turned, raising her sword just in time to block as the hurlock swung its maul. The impact of the blow sent painful reverberations down her arms, disorienting her. The hurlock parried Alistair's assault with a sword in its other hand before it thrust the blade into Gráinne's side.

Her body reacted before her mind fully registered what had happened. She blasted the hurlock back with a fire ball, sending it flying into the air. Alistair killed the creature as it landed.

Her hand instinctively clutched her side. At first she felt only a dull ache; suddenly a wave of searing pain rushed her, nearly causing her to double over. She examined her armor, discovering a deep puncture that pierced through her body. She pulled her hand away and found it covered in blood. Within seconds, she began to feel lightheaded and her vision blurred. As Alistair returned to her, she wiped her hand clean.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "How bad is it?"

As the shock wore off, she slowly became aware of the severity of her injury. She felt the blood continue to pulse from the wound, soaking the inside of her armor. It wasn't going to stop.

"It's fine," she lied without hesitation. "Just a scratch."

Alistair didn't seem entirely convinced, but he didn't argue. "I've got a clear path around the left flank. I can draw the archdemon's attention while you come from the right."

Gráinne shook her head. "That's suicide! You'll be swarmed by darkspawn. You can't fend them off alone." She clenched her teeth against the throbbing in her side. "I'll distract them. That should give you time to kill the archdemon." She interrupted him before he could protest. "You're king now, Alistair. The people will need you when this is over."

"Too bad." He kissed her roughly and ran off before she could stop him.

Alistair grabbed a shield from the ground and hoisted it onto his arm as he charged forward. His plan worked; the archdemon focused its rage on him, thrashing and snapping at him with its huge jaws. A throng of darkspawn followed, attacking him at once. He fought them off, slaying them one by one with great skill. Yet Gráinne knew he would not last long, just as she knew her life was slowly but surely bleeding away. It was time to end this, once and for all. She gripped the hilt of her sword, struggling not to cry as her body burned with agony. Mustering the last of her strength, she rushed forward, dodging between darkspawn as they tried to attack. As she closed in, she raised her sword, ready to make the killing blow.

The archdemon took notice of her and reared its ugly head, preparing to strike. As its head came down, Gráinne fell to her knees and slid, slicing her sword through the dragon's neck. The archdemon gave a dying roar as it swayed, black blood spurting from its wound. She tumbled away just as its head crashed to the ground.

She gasped for breath, blinded by pain. Her magic was all but depleted, but she summoned forth what little remained, charging her sword with lightning. She lifted her sword and screamed, both from pain and triumph, before burying the blade deep into the archdemon's skull.

A beam of light burst forth and enveloped her; she shrieked once more, feeling as though she were on fire. She tried desperately to pull away, but the light held her fast.

The darkspawn had dispersed in a panic once they felt their master die. Alistair watched helplessly as Gráinne struggled to free herself from the magical force. The darkspawn had overtaken him; his leg was broken, his body riddled with cuts and bruises. He tried to limp towards her but fell to the ground, too weak to continue.

At last, Gráinne wrenched her sword from the archdemon's body, letting loose a devastating explosion that reverberated through the air and expanded over the entire city. It was the last thing she saw as her body propelled backwards, before everything went dark.

* * *

Alistair drifted in and out of consciousness, his ears ringing from the explosion. He sensed people round him, running and yelling. Someone knelt by his side.

"The king is here! Summon a healer!"

After a few moments, his mind began to clear a little. He tried to sit up, but the soldier at his side held him down. "Please be still, your Majesty. The healer will soon be here."

Alistair pushed his hand away. "The broken leg is the worst of it." He pushed himself upright, leaning against the soldier. "Where is Gráinne?" The man gave him a confused look. "The other Warden," he pressed. "Where is she?"

"I don't know, your Majesty."

He scanned the battleground until he spotted Wynne nearby, kneeling over Gráinne's body, her hands glowing with blue healing magic. Gráinne wasn't moving.

"Mage!" the soldier called out. "The king needs healing at once!"

"Is he dying?"

"No, but—"

"Then he can wait, because this woman is!" came her angry reply.

_No,_ Alistair thought. _Maker, don't let her die_.

* * *

_A/N: Stay tuned for the final chapter..._


End file.
